Phoenix's Order
by BC
Summary: SEVERITUS! Post HBP! How can Harry defeat Voldemort if he had no chance against Snape? How does he deal with Fawkes? Edited and enhanced! DISCONTINUED.
1. Fawkes

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognise and probably a few things you don't. Most grateful to J.K. Rowling.

First A/N:

Wow. I wanted to write a response to the Severitus Challenge for a long time, but... there were so many wonderful pieces that I couldn't think of anything original. Fortunately, beloved J.K. wrote the Half-Blood Prince for me. There aren't many post HBP Severitus fics, are they?

There will be little to no Severus (except for a few scattered Harry's thoughts here and there) in the first few chapters, he will make appearance later. You'll see several pairings, most of them canon (BillFleur, RemusTonks, HermioneRon, hints on HarryGinny and... surprise!). The story is centred around Harry, which means there will be only one point of view (wish me luck, it's my first attempt on a story from one POV). With that said...

On with the story.

Chapter 1: Fawkes

"Yeah, we shouldn't miss that," he said finally.

His hand closed automatically around the fake Horcrux, but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.

He wasn't really sure what to use it for. He wanted to embrace Hogwarts for one last time before he left for what might have turned out to be forever, but the castle was too great to properly part with in a day.

Its Headmaster had also been too great to properly part with in a day and they all... they all managed it. Hagrid's howls eventually subsided, and he was being carried away by his brother, giant steps taking him towards his cabin at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The Ministry didn't give a damn, they had it all that much easier now, when there was no one to criticise the way they run the society...

"Wait-" Harry didn't realise he had spoken aloud.

"What?" asked Hermione, already a few steps away, turning back to him to find out what might have held him. How was he supposed to explain this to her?

"Never mind..." he said dismissively, "You guys go ahead. I want to... take a walk." Hermione nodded, being the considerate person she was, and dragged Ron towards the castle. Harry paced in the exactly opposite direction - towards the Forest. Across a meadow, littered with medley-coloured flowers, across a strand, across a bay, lined by a cliff from the side, so he had to go through the water. It didn't bother him; the day was warm. When he climbed up at a dry rock again, his dress robe was wet up above his knees and he dripped all over the stone, leaving a trail of slightly darker grey behind himself.

He stood up on the high shelf, solitary, a dark silhouette against the azure sky overhead, and looked back at what he was leaving. The mountains. The forests and _the Forest_. The town of Hogsmeade... The lake... The castle. School. Youth. _Illusion_ of safety.

'Because that's all it was. And it all fit in one word: Hogwarts.' He didn't think there was anything that might have shattered the shards of his heart, but this was it. The castle standing strong, beautiful, mesmerising as ever, not knowing that some 'Harry Potter' was leaving it.

And then a wave of sound hit him; it was coming from all around, the air smelled with a tangible sweetness and Harry felt warm and happy as though he just downed a demijohn of Butterbeer, as though he had not a care in the world, as though his heart was whole...

Thinking about it; his heart _was_ whole.

Harry smiled - no, he laughed, and then the air cracked and in a whirlwind of crimson flames and feathers a phoenix swooped down on him. He probably slipped, or what other way could he all of sudden find himself sitting on the stone?

"Fawkes!" he gasped, "I thought you were gone..." The phoenix sat on his lap and stretched out its wings - they were vast, much greater and much grander than he remembered and then...

Then Fawkes hugged him.

Or how else could enclosing a boy in a pair of wings be called? Harry didn't feel warm now, he felt downright hot. His blood boiled and a soft touch of feather sent cold shiver down his spine. It was pleasure, pleasure behind anything he ever experienced - it was the feeling that caused the need for invention of the word 'bliss'.

And then it was gone as suddenly as it came, when Fawkes pulled his wings back and stopped singing. Harry hadn't realised that the phoenix had sung, but he hadn't noticed pretty much anything. His mind had been completely blank but for the emotion, more powerful than any other. Now, as he started thinking again, he realised so many things at once - that creating a Patronus with this memory would be a child-play, though its shape had probably changed... That Fawkes didn't intend to leave and of all people to 'befriend' he had chosen Harry... That he had just acquired the most important ally in his fight against Voldemort... That his feet weren't sloppy anymore. And he ended the sentence he had started before.

"...because Dumbledore left us."

'Albus didn't leave, not yet.'

Harry rapidly looked around to see who said that, but there was no one, no one except him and the crimson bird sitting in his lap. He stared at it. It stared back.

It had black eyes, _twinkling familiarly_, much more perceptive than any animal he had ever seen before. Much more perceptive than _anyone_ he had ever seen before. He could have sworn Fawkes chortled, though he didn't let out more than a twitter.

'You are... in my head?' he asked dumbfounded. Fawkes now openly laughed at him in his infuriatingly bestial way.

'Most certainly not, young one. I _do_ have my own body in the case you failed to notice.' Harry took a while to glare at the bird, not considering its jibe as witty as it might have seem to itself, going through past memories of the creature.

'Yes, such a turn of events isn't that surprising, is it? And what's with the young one? I _do_ have a name!'

Fawkes decided it was about time to resettle himself, using Harry's shoulder as a perch.

'I call all of you 'young one' for all of you are young.'

'Even Dumbledore was?' Harry asked mentally, though instantly cursed himself for it. Thinking of the deceased Headmaster brought back ghost of the pain he had felt before the elation the phoenix had given him.

'Curious. Very curious.' Harry rolled his eyes. He had heard that already. He knew he was curious - hardly anyone failed to remind him of that. Mimicking himself from almost seven years ago he spoke.

"And may I ask what is so curious?"

'That you would be thinking of _ghosts_.'

popopopopo

Harry shrugged the bird off, phoenix or not. He stared at it, for the first few minutes hoping that it would expand that statement, but vainly. After a while, when he guessed it started to get bored with the staring contest, he gave up.

"Are you implying that Dumbledore..." He couldn't complete. He simply couldn't. It was unthinkable. Impossible. Out of realms of reality. Hopeless. Without a chance-

'A clever one! Figured it out! Look everyone!'

"Where the Hell is he?" Harry yelled. He couldn't believe it. After all that happened, after he started comprehending Dumbledore had left him on his own, after he _came to terms_ with it-

'Language,' acknowledged Fawkes and the sudden strictness struck the boy. 'I might have chosen you to be my charge for the next few decades, but I won't have that sort of impudence from you.'

'Oh Hell, I start to see where Dumbledore learnt his _manners_.' Harry felt like he was splashed in a freezing cold juice. It was much worse than water; it was sticky and wouldn't dry off. He tried to get rid of it with a spell, but he wasn't _really_ splashed. It was just a feeling...

'I said: _Language_!'

popopopopo

Half an hour and several more 'disciplines' later Harry seriously wished the phoenix would leave or, better, never had come to him in the first place. While it was usually virtually impossible for him to control what he was saying, there was no way he could damn control what he was thinking! He always thought there was Dumbledore, a great and noble man, and Fawkes saw this in him and that was why he kept him company. Never in his life would it cross his mind that it was actually the wizard keeping company to the phoenix, being scolded after every other remark and constantly coached.

'All right. Once more, please... So, I can make fun if it is witty. I can insult people if it is mannerly. I can be a manipulative bastard if it suits you-' He had suddenly a very good idea of what it felt like to bath in hot chocolate. It was... sticky. Yuck.

'Fine - I can lead people to do what I want them to do if the cause is objectively justifiable.' In the last split-second he had decided to replace the word 'trick' and was very glad he did. It earned him a praise in the form of removing the chocolate-feeling.

"Why me?" he asked suddenly as they entered the castle, Fawkes comfortably sitting on Harry's arm that threatened to fall off any minute now. A few people scattered in the Entrance Hall gave him odd glances, but he couldn't really blame them. He just returned as the last of those who attended the funeral and carried Dumbledore's 'pet' (he painfully sighed at the unfairness of the qualification).

'You ought to do more exercise.'

'I'm doing a lot in Quidditch,' he responded, trying hard to not sound cheeky.

'Not enough. And not only physical. Though I would say you're doing significantly better than Albus did. I guess his tuition rubbed off on you, after all.' So that was it. He was not going to find out just why did he become the pet of this magisterial bird. As though he didn't have enough of that with the Dursleys.

'Could you, _please_, move to my left arm for a while?' A politely formed request surprisingly met a polite acceptance.

'Where are we going?' There was no response. Harry sighed. He had no idea what the phoenix awaited from him and guessed it would take him a lot of time and a lot of sensations of various goo until he figured that out.

"May I ask where are we going?" he attempted to reformulate it. The bird _had_ to answer. Otherwise they would spend the day there, in the centre of the Entrance Hall, eyed and, in his case, ridiculed by the students.

Harry had become a living perch. He didn't like the arrangements at all. But he could think of nothing that could get him out. For all that was pure, even Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard he knew, managed that only through death!

'About Dumbledore... I-I still can't quite believe... I mean... That's freaking impossible! I won't believe that until I see him with MY OWN EYES! Dammit, not even Sirius became a ghost!'

'Then 'Sirius' didn't have a _reason,_' came a cold answer, along with the sensation of falling head-first into something slimy and smelly. The phoenix abandoned its position, giving both Harry's elbows a deeply desired rest, and flew first, leading the way. He was once again wrong. The bird _didn't_ _have_ to answer.

popopopopo

The Great Hall was packed. All four house-tables were swarmed with students and parents and random people, who attended the feast to Dumbledore's tribute. Only two spots were empty, both at the Head Table. Harry forced himself to look away from the spaces; they reminded him of unpleasant memories. Raw. Dark. But not painful anymore; they shrunk into a reminder, into a warning for future. Who to trust. Who to obey. Who to squash.

He thought all of this while striding across the room, up the aisle between the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff table. He was half-way through the Hall when a realisation hit him. Apart from the scowl plastered on his face, due to an uncomfortable stink of a substance he was glad didn't really exist, he must have looked... different. Different from everybody else.

There was _Dumbledore's_ phoenix flying few steps ahead of him, as though making a way for him, powerful, divine creature out to herald his presence. And there he strode, quickly, raising wind, his dress-robes billowing behind him in a Snape-like fashion. The silence that hung over the Hall was completely justifiable. The gapes he received from about everyone in the room were as well.

The only sound was that of his shoes, impacting with the stony floor in a quick interval, until McGonagall's stool scraped and she stood up, meeting him, though her expression gave away she was just as perplexed as the rest of the residents of the Great Hall.

'Wicked! I think I start to see how did the old man manage to always look so... _forceful_.' The flattering in his thought cancelled out with the inappropriate address and he remained unharmed. Deciding that it would be a good idea to acknowledge the _Headmistress_, Harry nodded to her silently and continued his way around the staff table to the door behind it. He had been in that chamber before. There was nothing good waiting for him then. He briefly wondered what it was going to be now.

'Can't be anything worse than I already landed in,' he thought grimly, glancing at the tail of the phoenix in front of him. His mouth was suddenly so full of toddy ice-cream that he could neither swallow nor spit out. Harry hated toddy. It disappeared.

'Courtesy for the nice greeting to Minerva. Helped the effect quite a lot.'

'Thanks,' Harry said and meant it. Fawkes just reached the door. It opened by itself. Harry wasn't surprised; it seemed that the Hogwarts castle was obeying the phoenix as though it had no other possibility. Which strongly reminded him of himself. However, he suppressed the thought before he received more toddy.

popopopopo

The door slammed shut and the occupants of row of portraits on the wall turned to him as one.

'Greet.' Harry felt like a small child being taught to be polite. 'Which is precisely what you are. Greet.'

"Good afternoon," Harry said obediently and tried to make it sound as nice as he could.

"Good afternoon, Harry," replied Violet - a portrait he had briefly acquainted - for all of them. He sighed exhaustedly and sank down into a soft leather armchair.

'What a day!' And it was nowhere near evening yet. He considered talking to the paintings a bit, but felt too overwhelmed. He had to sort out his thoughts before he did or said anything.

He was a pri- a 'charge' to a phoenix. Said phoenix had bel- 'tutored' Dumbledore before. The wizard himself was dead. Burnt. Buried. And supposedly had become a ghost. And he - Harry - was sitting in a chamber he particularly disliked, because he felt like he was some sort of show for a line of pictures, and waited for something mysterious to happen after he decided to not return to Hogwarts for his last year. World was a mess.

He opened his eyes just in time to see a silvery, half-transparent figure step inside the room through an inch of solid wood. That was nothing unusual at Hogwarts, of course. But _this_ was a figure of a tall, very old man, with long hair and beard easily reaching the immaterial buckle of his immaterial belt. Harry gasped.

"My boy..." whispered Dumbledore and Harry suspected that if he hadn't been dead, he would have had tears in his eyes. He was suddenly very much awake.

"Sir..." Harry _was_ alive. He _had_ tears in his eyes. And for probably the first time he wasn't ashamed to show them to this man. The ex-Headmaster smiled. Harry wiped his cheeks and stood up, pacing toward the ghost, but eventually stopping a step from him.

"I would hug you but I'm glad I'm warm right now..."

Dumbledore glanced over the boy's shoulder and gave Fawkes something that looked awfully like a smirk.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

He gaped.

"What for, sir?" There were so many things that the ex-Headmaster could have been sorry for - _should_ have been sorry for-

He felt like he was dipped in the lake in the middle of January.

"I think that now I can hug you without further discomfort," he said bitterly. Dumbledore's eyes still managed to twinkle _mischievously_.

"For this, Harry. Exactly for this..." The hug wasn't as bad as he feared, though it threatened to send another wave of tears down Harry's face. He blinked them away.

"I know I'm risking something rather nasty, sir, but I'm afraid I know what you are talking about... Though I can't imagine how did you manage to stand it so long?" Dumbledore chuckled.

"Yes, it was a very eventful-"

'Century,' inserted Fawkes, without any retribution for Harry's previous statement.

"Sir, may I ask you something?"

"Didn't you just?" The ghost laughed. If Harry's eyes widened yet more, they would have squeezed his brain out through his ears. "Yes, of course."

"What the Hell is going on here?" This time the punishment was instant.

popopopopo

The door slammed open and revealed a shocked and angry Transfiguration teacher. Minerva McGonagall stood at the head of a small crowd, consisting mostly of the staff, but even as Harry watched it was quickly growing. Dumbledore blended with the surroundings; the only part of him that remained visible were his eyes, twinkling somewhere high above the boy.

"Mr Potter, I require that you tell me the reason for your actions!" she fumed.

Harry frowned at her back-up; he didn't feel like arguing with the new Headmistress in front of half of the wizarding society.

'We have been having a conversation,' suggested Fawkes. Harry blinked. It was a good answer. Truthful enough.

"We have been having a conversation," he said coldly, watching the witch's face. She looked around, as though hiding embarrassment, but then composed herself again.

"May I ask how did you come to possession of Professor Dumbledore's phoenix?" The Headmaster's ghost's eyes were gleaming with amusement. Harry didn't need help this time; he knew what to answer.

"I didn't, Professor. You can _not_ own a phoenix." His reply seemed to entertain both the ex-Headmaster and Fawkes. There was another while of silence. McGonagall obviously didn't know that much about phoenixes.

"Why didn't you respond when I asked you to let me inside?"

'Yeah. Asked. That's just the right word,' Harry thought smugly. His 'tutor' once again came to his help.

'Because, dear Professor, of the Two-way Silencing Charm I have put on the room.'

"Because, Professor, of the Two-way Silencing Charm I have put on the room. Would you, please, excuse us now?" It seemed to work. For a short while in his life Harry was polite and mannerly and the Headmistress of Hogwarts _obeyed him_. He watched the woman as she retreated, repairing the mangled door with a quick series of movements of her wand.

'Hmm, it seems that you are quite different from Albus, young one...'mused Fawkes, staring at him with a new spark in his eyes. Harry tried the same tactics which worked so magnificently while ago.

"Would you please call me 'Harry' instead of 'young one'? And... different?" The phoenix chuckled.

'Albus never left out a chance to humiliate someone to amuse himself, Harry.'

popopopopo

"Fawkes and I agreed that you shall be his next charge."

"Yes, sir, I caught on so far. I meant... Nick - _ouch!_ - _Sir Nicolas_ said that only those who were afraid of passing became ghosts... I can't quite imagine you..."

'Being afraid? Albus?' Fawkes seemed to be enjoying himself better than Harry had ever seen him. And Dumbledore also. That old... spirit was damn enjoying that he was dead!

"As I once told you, Harry, for a well-organised mind, death is but an adventure-"

"Then what are you - _ouch!_ - doing here? In this form?" he yelled, not really caring if he could be heard from the Great Hall. He supposed he couldn't be, anyway.

"I can not leave, Harry, much as I would cherish the well-earned peace-" he shot Fawkes a glare, "there is no one, who could sufficiently fill my rank in the organisation of the Order of the Phoenix-" another glare was enough to tell Harry the name wasn't quite Dumbledore's idea, "and thus I am here. Oh, and also to... complete the lessons we started together. Your new _pet_ wouldn't like me to abandon that quest. It had been working on 'preparing you' for quite a long time." The pointed glare the phoenix was giving the ghost sent shiver down Harry's spine, though it wasn't aimed at him. Not even Snape could do such a thing! To his awe Dumbledore laughed with mirth.

"Can't get at me now, can you? Cannot, cannot, cannot-" chanted the ghost merrily. Harry gulped. Something had gone awfully, awfully wrong. Yes - Dumbledore died. He freed himself of the creature that controlled him for a century - _century! _- left it to harass Harry and now was happy about it and _allowed_ to show it.

'I almost hope I die young-' thought Harry bitterly. 'There has to be a way to get out of this!'

'There is, young man. Obey. Learn. Accomplish your task. You must _deserve_ your 'freedom'.' Harry's jaw fell even lower.

"But Albus Dumbledore didn't deserve it? I'm screwed!" he cried, and immediately groaned. More toddy.

'The 'Great Albus Dumbledore' couldn't do away with one Dark Wizard.' proclaimed the phoenix, sending another dark look in the direction of the ghost.

"So... All you want me to do is to kill Voldemort?" He snorted. "Not too original..."

popopopopo

So... read and review and it will be continued...  
Brynn


	2. Hagrid

A/N: BIG THANKS to all my kind reviewers!

- Is early. But you've been nice and I hope you'll like this chapter as well. Be kind, please, and patient, there will be some weird things but all explained in due time.

Chapter 2: Hagrid

"Honestly?" Harry asked needlessly, too loud and very happy. Dumbledore laughed.

"Of course. I think he knows very well that he would drive one crazy if he kept doing this all the time. And he will try to be hard on you in the beginning until-"

"Until what?" interrupted Harry anxiously, happiness being washed away.

"Until he _forms_ you, I'm afraid..."

Fawkes was gone and Harry was free to think what he liked. It was a great relief, even though he knew this was only temporary. Finding out that the phoenix wouldn't be sticking to him twenty-four hours a day made him change his mind about dying young. However, if he was supposed to endure the torment for as long as Dumbledore... He had to know the reason.

"Sir, have you decided to drink the poison because of Fawkes?" The ghost gave him a weird contemplative look. It was strange to meet this 'other Dumbledore'. He seemed as an almost different person, his reactions and wording bore marks of a very different personality now that he could act as he felt like acting. The fact that he hovered a foot above the floor didn't help that impression.

"No, Harry. Of course not. One of the first things Fawkes will teach you is to value life, yours as well as everybody else's. Yes, even the dark wizards'."

"Then why..." he cried. Without the phoenix in his close proximity he stomached the situation much worse, regardless of the ex-Headmaster's lingering presence. The fact that there was no one standing between himself and Voldemort didn't change. Ghosts didn't stand. They floated.

"That is a very good question, Harry, and I ask you to remember my answer for future: I had to choose between two people, lest both of them would die. One death was avoidable. I decided for the more important person to live.

Do you think you can understand that?" Harry suddenly remembered the Chamber of Secrets. He was there because he wanted to save Ginny. Were there not for Fawkes he would have died in the process. Died so she could live... He nodded, vigorously, trying to drive the thoughts of Ginny out of his head. It hurt.

"I'm so glad, Harry. I was afraid... It seems you are tired. I will leave you now, have some rest. Meet me tomorrow at noon in the Headmistress' office. The password is 'Gillywater'."

With that Dumbledore swooped around and slid through the wall, when Harry remembered.

"Sir!" A silvery bearded head stuck inside through a portrait of an angry-looking hag.

"Yes, Harry?" he asked politely, though not bothering to hide his bewilderment.

"I'm sorry. I can't meet you-"

"And why is that?"

"Because I have to catch the Hogwarts Express, sir. It's the last day of the school-year; I'm going back to Whinging tomorrow."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Fawkes has not informed you? You are staying here for summer."

popopopopo

"Harry James Potter!" The black-haired boy looked up, startled to see the common room full and waiting for him as he climbed through the portrait-hole. The Gryffindors were sardined along the walls, trying to stay as far from the girl in the centre of the room. To say she was blazing with anger was a serious understatement. And he was so tired...

"Yes, Ginny?" he said quietly, trying to mask his weariness. It worked! The girl opened and closed her mouth for a few times like a stranded fish before she found her voice again.

"What the heck was that!"

"What exactly are you referring to?" Several of his class-mates in the back of the room dared to laugh at what they supposed was a row between a boyfriend and girlfriend. An invisible fist clenched his insides. Ginny scowled.

"Your grand show down in the Great Hall of course! Did you bother to tell _any_ of your friends that you caught Dumbledore's bird?"

'When was I supposed to make time for that?'

"And what did you mean by completely ignoring McGonagall and us and storming the place like it belonged to you? For goodness sake, you looked like Snape!" That was a mistake. Ginny knew it instantly and covered her mouth with her hand, but it was too late; she couldn't take the words back. However, Harry cared about her too much to hurt her.

He spoke, quietly, freezingly.

"Never, Ginny... _Never_ again compare _me_ to _Snape_." He walked across the room to the stairs to his dormitory. The silence was so absolute that he would have been able to hear the flutter of the wings of a Golden Snitch.

"I-I'm sorry," Ginny whispered as he walked past her. He nodded curtly, but didn't stop, not until he had closed the door to the sixth-years' bedroom.

popopopopo

'I'm such git!' stormed Harry, while he searched around his bed for a decently looking piece of parchment. Having found one with more or less straight edges he grabbed a self-inking quill from his bed-table and scribbled a note, completely oblivious to the two pairs of eyes that watched him, thunderstruck, throughout the entire process.

_Ginny,  
I'm sorry. I shouldn't have got mad, I'm just tired. You wouldn't believe what happened to me during the past hour. I'd tell you, but I'm not sure if I'm allowed. Please, don't be angry. I need to know I can count on you._

_Harry_

He knew he should have gone to her personally and apologise. But it was so terribly hard to be around her and not stare in her eyes, not touch her, not kiss her... He suppressed the urge to bang his head in the wall (imagining what Fawkes would make him feel for such reaction) and read the note again. It seemed OK. He lay down on his bed, staring at the canopy, trying to figure out what to do with it next.

'I can't go down there. They would eat me alive... unless I am under the Cloak... God, I don't feel like getting up!' He sighed.

'You look more dead than Albus.' scoffed a voice in his head. Harry groaned and forced himself to sit up. Life was so... unfair.

"At least I'm not transparent. Er... would you mind to help me?"

"Harry?" asked two voices unison. Startled, he turned around and found Ron and Hermione sitting side by side on Ron's bed. He gaped at them. They gaped back as though he was a ghost. How could he overlook them?

'You were, ehm, agitated? Of course I will help you. Would I be here otherwise?' Finally overcoming his shock, Harry laughed dryly.

'No, I suppose not. Could you, please, take this to Ginny?'

'Ah, Miss Weasley. A woman of fire, isn't she? An extraordinary damsel, for human standards.'

"Yes." responded Harry without thinking about it. But it didn't matter, anyway. Anyone with a bit of brain could see what he thought of Ginny on the first sight of his mind.

'You are becoming bitter, lad. Try to think positively-'

"Are you all right?" said Hermione, mistaking Harry's answer to Fawkes for an answer to her and Ron. However, precisely that moment chose the phoenix for his magnificent entrance, flash of fire freezing the aback expression on both his friends' faces. It screeched in greeting, but didn't receive any response. Harry extended his hand to it, passing it the parchment. Fawkes took it in his beak.

"Thanks." With another flash of fire the bird was gone.

popopopopo

"Harry?" piped Ron, his face showing clearly his internal turmoil. Hermione meanwhile managed to try to look as though such occurrence was perfectly normal and Harry had a phoenix to his service whenever he called for it. She at least realised he had been talking to _it_. Unlike Ron. By the look of it, the red-head decided to just sit and wait until someone told him what was happening, instead of vainly attempting to figure it out on his own.

"Sorry. I'm tired. What-" something caught his eyes. He gave Hermione a pointed gaze; she took it for a while but then blushed and pulled the strap of her dress a bit to the side. Harry arched an eyebrow and she got yet redder.

"Congratulation, guys." He smirked. "It took you quite a long time..." Ron glared at him.

"Look who talks." Harry's smirk vanished. He gulped. No, he didn't want to think about Ginny right now...

"Don't be a prat, Ron!" protested Hermione, giving Harry a lugubrious glance.

He had to tell _them_. Not everything, of course, but the most. After all, they offered to go with him to Privet Drive and then wherever he went from there... As he watched them, Ginny crept back in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to defy her. And then he realised it would have been wrong. His relationship had gone to blazes, but their didn't have to, and _mustn't_ because of _him_. They had every right for another year at Hogwarts...

Hermione stood up, came over to him and hugged him.

"You know you can tell us anything, right?" He nodded and took a deep breath. This was going to be hard.

"Look, guys, I'm not going back to my Aunt and Uncle. And-" he turned to Ron, "I'm not going to Burrow, either."

"Where-" started the red-head, but was promptly gestured to hush.

"You go home for this summer and come back in September."

"But, Harry!"

"We said we'll go with you!"

"You can't leave us behind!"

He shrugged off Hermione's arms and sighed again. There was no avoiding telling them. They would never listen to him otherwise and he had to bring them to.

"I just talked to Dumbledore-" He stopped under the looks they gave him.

"Harry, Dumbledore is dead," Hermione said carefully, as though he was valetudinarian.

"I know, Mione. I know. I was there, remember?" She still doubted him.

"OK. I talked to Dumbledore's _ghost_-" Hermione's jaw fell and Ron's was soon to follow. Harry smirked at their expressions and retold his story, carefully avoiding the subject of his interaction with Fawkes. He could tell they did understand yet less than he did. But, thankfully, they accepted.

popopopopo

The next morning found Harry sitting on his bed still clad in his pyjamas, hugging his knees and watching his four friends pack. He didn't feel like getting up. Fawkes didn't make an appearance and he decided he was going to enjoy it as much as he could, though... he couldn't feel too happy when all his mates were leaving and he was going to remain alone, with only the phoenix, the ghosts and some of the teachers as company. The boys tried to cheer him up, using few of spare Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in the process.

Once the trunks had been packed, Harry decided it was about the highest time for him to finally change. The room was a mess, thanks to the numerous Fred and George's products, but it at least gave him something to do, while they waited for Neville, who had to go and recover his warning to not do magic during the holidays. It gave Seamus a great bit of laugh…

"Harry."

He looked up. Ron was looking at him worriedly. "You've got to drop in during the summer. If not to Burrow then to Gr-" Harry cleared his throat, wildly gesturing to the other two boys in the room. Ron smiled sheepishly. "To the HQ. And write. I-I'm not sure how it- you know, I'm a bit nervous about the whole me and Mione thing..." For the first time that day Harry smiled good-naturedly, giving his friend a mock pat on the head, though he had to stand on his toes to do it.

"Don't worry. You'll be alright. And..." He sobered again. "Look after Ginny for me, please." Ron gave him a look of concern, but merely nodded.

An hour later he stood on the stairs in front of the main gate, watching the line of carriages being pulled away by Thestrals disappear towards the Hogsmeade train station. He had been hugged and yelled at and given hand-shakes so many times that he didn't bother to count. He'd been kissed twice. On the cheek. The left one. The spot still stung, but it was nothing compared to the heartache it stirred.

He noticed a movement next to him and immediately felt slightly warmer.

"I can go visit them, can't I?"

'Of course. You're a trainee, not a prisoner.'

Harry sighed.

'Sometimes it doesn't-' He realised what he was about to think and immediately shifted his attention elsewhere - to Hagrid's cabin namely. A thin smoke came out from the chimney.

'What was that again?' Fawkes asked amusedly.

"Nothing of importance. I think I'll go and see Hagrid... Would you like to come with me?" He hoped the phoenix would decline. It tweeted merrily.

'Such a refreshment! After a century with Albus... No, Harry, I suppose you have a lot on your mind. Don't forget your appointment, though.'

Harry nodded to it and made his way down the green slope.

popopopopo

"Harry!" Hargid cried and frowned. "How come yer not on the train? Yer gonna 'ave troubles..." Strangely, the half-giant didn't seem nearly as crushed as he did yesterday... as though someone had hit him with a Cheering Charm. Harry strongly suspected he knew what happened.

"Professor Dumbledore said I'll stay for holidays-" Hagrid's expression froze, he leant down and for a moment of horror Harry thought the man was so angry he was going to hit him. He braced himself and...

Hegrid scooped him in his arms in a fierce hug that threatened to mash the boys ribcage along with everything it contained.

"'e's back, Harry, 'e's back!" Harry concentrated on drawing as much breath as he was capable to while Hagrid danced around. Fang kept dodging him and jumping out of the way and, after having his tail stomped on, whined and retreated into the relative safety of the cabin.

A while later Harry felt he was going to pass out and called at Hagrid to release him. It took another few minutes for the half-giant to calm down enough to be able to speak comprehensibly. When he did, though, he ushered Harry inside, seated him at the table and poured him tea. Harry sugared it, watching Hagrid pour a cup for himself.

"'e came yesterday, at nigh'; I was goin' ter bed, 's been a shock, I tell ya... I freaked out an' he'd been talkin' ter me for 'bout 'n hour. Great man, Dumbledore..." Harry took a sip of the tea and screwed his face. It smelled exquisitely, but tasted like an abstergent. "Oh, I 'ave a surprise fer ya, Harry... where I put it?" He furiously searched around and after a while started looking nervous. Harry's stomach clenched; he wasn't sure why... maybe something in Hagrid's expression...

"What was it? I can help you look for it..." he offered, the stomach-ache getting gradually worse.

"T'was in a small box, Harry, 'bout this big-" Harry stood up, but a pain in his insides knocked him off his feet. He tried to catch on the desk, but his hands slipped as his vision unfocused.

"Harry!" was the last thing he heard.

popopopopo

Harry woke up to a wail. He opened his eyes - not widely, only small slits to find out what was going on before anybody noticed he was awake.

He was in the Hospital wing, he knew it well enough to recognise it even without his glasses. A black-clad tall person was walking away from his bed, through the door and out of his sight. He briefly wondered who could it be, until an extremely flustered Madam Pomfrey stood in the line of his eyes. He looked up at her to find she was pale, paler than he had ever seen her before. She looked sick.

'Can Healers be sick?' he wondered, not expecting any responding voices invading his mind.

'Of course. Now this is an unexpected turn of events.'

'Curious?' thought Harry mockingly. "Morning, Madam Pomfrey," he groaned and felt blood being drained from his face too. It wasn't his voice.

'What happened to me?' He gaped pleadingly at the witch, while more wails sounded behind himself.

"Calm down, Mr Potter. It will take a little time... you must stay calm." He tried. Really. But something happened to him, he remembered fainting in Hagrid's hut... his stomach had hurt... now he felt like he had none for a change... his voice was different...

'What happened to me?' He reached for his glasses and put them on. His vision focused, but the usually fit frame threatened to slid off his nose.

"It's all my fault! My fault! I wanted ter give it ter ya, Harry... and I messed up... and ya could have died..." Hagrid wailed.

"What happened-" the strange, deep silky voice sent shiver down his spine.

"Hagrid prepared an early birthday present for you, Harry,"

He turned around and spotted Dumbledore standing _in_ the next bed. He felt a little better. Safer.

"Present?" he whispered, trying to cover the unfamiliarity of his voice.

"A substance that triggers the first stage of becoming an Animagus, Harry. A very thoughtful gift, I would say." Harry tried to smile. The idea was... thoughtful indeed. He had never tried to become an Animagus on his own, but the possibility... It was definitely attractive.

"Thanks." Then he frowned again. "But... what happened?"

"It seems that you have 'sugared' your tea with it, Harry. You indeed ought to start paying more attention to your surroundings. Unless you want to keep me company, of course, though I must say I wouldn't be that delighted about such turn of events." Dumbledore softly chuckled, but he was the only one who seemed to find the situation amusing. Not even Fawkes - who was nowhere to see, but had made himself heard - did consider it funny.

'Is it supposed to feel like this? I'm not surprised so few people risk it...'

'Certainly not. Listen to Albus, Harry.'

He gazed at the ghost, asking him to continue. The room fell silent; for a while even Hagrids sniffing stopped. Dumbledore looked at him sadly, but seemed to be looking _through_ him, as though _he_ was the one whose body didn't stop the rays of the sunlight… He was remembering something. Then he shook his head, back to present, and spoke.

"I'm sorry to inform you that you won't be able to become an Animagus."

"Why?" Harry cried and shivered again. The velvety sound tore his ears with its unnaturalness. Dumbledore sighed wearily.

popopopopo

Ya know. Ya read and review and me continues.  
Brynn


	3. Harry

A/N: A long chapter. For you. Still very little of Severus - you will have to be patient.

Chapter 3: Harry

"You are a Metamorphmagus, Hary."

Silence.

Everyone in the room - that was he, Pomfrey, and Hagrid - turned to Dumbledore, stunned, speechless. The silvery beard twitched. It still wasn't funny.

"One more time and slowly, please," Harry said, not knowing where did it come from. Well, more _drawled_ than actually said.

"You are a Metamorphmagus, Harry," Dumbledore repeated very slowly, now openly grinning at his amazed audience. Harry gave up and lay back, closing his eyes. The back of his eyelids was instantly flooded with images.

'Nonsense, nonsense...' chanted a small voice in his head merrily. He felt like he was going crazy. 'Dumbledore's ghost just told me I am a Metamorphmagus.' That short sentence featured so many absurdities that Harry simply gave up and burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. It was as rich and velvety as his speech.

'Right! A Metamorphmagus!'

'Now calm down, suckling, would you!' thundered Fawkes. 'What if you first tried to think about what the older and wiser are telling you?' The phoenix couldn't hide exasperation.

Harry knew he was acting irrationally as well as he knew he should be probably ashamed for it. It took him a long while until he sobered enough to be able to seriously contemplate the _suggestion_.

'It is impossible. You have to be _born_ a Metamorphmagus. I was not. I didn't show the least sign of any ability to change my appearance at will.'

'Haven't you?'

Startled, Harry thought back, skimming his memory.

'All right. I managed to grow my hair. A bit of wandless magic.'

'Only?' piped the phoenix, now becoming slightly annoying. But Harry didn't want to risk another disciplinary, so he 'kept his mouth shut'.

'As far as I know.'

Fawkes materialised perching on Harry's feet.

'Ask Albus.'

Harry shook his head.

'No! I don't believe it. Nobody gave me any reason to and I have a Hell of a good reason against!' He felt a bucket of oil being emptied on his head, but didn't care. He was right. He _was_ right!

'Your voice is different because your vocal chords are shaped differently. If it is not enough look at your hands.' Against his will, Harry complied. Fortunately he was used to shocks, because this was a particularly extreme one. His fingers were longer than they used to be, paler, and sort of... elegant? He desperately lifted his glance, as though looking for somebody to ascertain that this had all been a lame hoax.

'Ask Albus.' He looked at the silvery figure. Why should he ask the ex-Headmaster for evidence? Unless...

Harry's eyes blazed with anger.

"You knew it!" he yelled. Dumbledore nodded.

'You're so lucky to be already dead because I-'

'Language!' Fawkes screeched. Harry glared at him, but stopped that train of thoughts. It wouldn't help him. He could ventilate his anger a different way.

"Right. What was with that 'Sit down, Harry, I'll tell you everything'? You lied to me ever since I set foot in Hogwarts. I had no childhood. I looked up to a father-figure that was a phantom. You cold-bloodedly used me for your plans and then let yourself be blown up and set your phoenix at me.

And now you want me to believe you? Ridiculous." All mirth from Dumbledore's gaze vanished. He sighed heavily. Harry prepared to listen to explanations and apologies. And refuse them. However, the ghost merely looked over at Fawkes and asked.

"Do you really think I had a choice?"

Harry grimaced.

'Who would say the Saint Dumbledore was such a Slytherin? Voldemort would laugh his rear off.' Fawkes dipped him in the oily sensation again. He ignored it. He _was_ right. Righteously angry.

Harry closed his eyes and ostentatiously ignored them both. A pitiful ghost. Not a shadow of what the man once had been and meant. An obnoxious chicken, determined to destroy the little it had yet left him of his life. He hated them. And no ice, juice, oil or toddy would ever change it.

Then Dumbledore started talking again, quietly, without knowing whether Harry listened. The bed-ridden boy didn't have any other option.

"Harry, I suspected it since your third year. Since you caught the Knight Bus... I spoke to Ernie Prang. The man is positively weird, but a good-heart. He said that neither he nor Stan Shunpike had recognised you. Stan is... well, not very receptive, but Ernie should have known who you were the moment he spotted you. I take it you wished not to be recognised."

Against his will Harry nodded. His eyes, though closed, stung. It made sense. His subconscious began to accept the fact. Dumbledore inhaled.

'An ironic action from a ghost.'

"During the Second task of the Triwizard Tournament you used Gillyweed... And while the plant _does_ bestow both gills and webs, it does _not_ lend you the ability to communicate with Merpeople. Neither it colours your skin blue... Though at that time Fawkes supposed it might have been due to overdose."

Harry gave in and sat up straight, glaring at the ex-Headmaster's ghost.

"Anything more?"

"The worst. Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Harry growled and stared at the semitransparent face. He hated all this. But he _needed_ assistance to survive the war. The silky voice was surprisingly fit for his next statement.

"I'm afraid I have to. But I want a deal: from this day on you will be absolutely honest with me, you will not lie and you will not hide anything from me. Deceive me and I am leaving." Hagrid somewhere in the background choked, seeing Harry treating Dumbledore like this. Pomfrey pressed her hand against her chest and eventually rushed off to recover some potion from her cabinet.

'Where would you go?' Fawkes asked angrily.

'To my friends. They are outright with me - and we would figure out a way to get at Riddle,' Harry shot back. 'And besides, I wonder how would you communicate with Dumbledore if I left? He can do neither magic nor Legilimency. You would be pretty lost without a translator, wouldn't you?' Fawkes screeched and glared at Dumbledore. The ghost gave a small smile.

"I have taught him well, haven't I?" The phoenix clapped his beak furiously and left with a blaze. Dumbledore chuckled and gave Harry an answer to his unvoiced question. "That's the first time I have managed to defy his desire."

"He wanted me tame..." Harry muttered, surprised to hear his voice was back to normal. One glance at his hands showed they were the same as before this mess happened. Something quirked him, but he decided to ask that without the presence of Hagrid or Pomfrey.

"Yes, he did. And you, much like Tom would have been, are strong enough to fight against his Caesarism," Dumbledore said bitterly.

"You..." Harry gasped.

"I wasn't," the ghost confirmed with a troubling finality. "I even stayed behind as a spirit to do his bidding. _He_ is the general in this war, just as he was in the previous one. And it is very convenient to have ghosts in your rank, especially for spying and other... activities."

"But that _is_ brilliant, sir." Harry admitted.

'A bird is the best strategist on the Light Side? What would Ron say?' Fortunately Fawkes left the place completely and didn't stay to watch Harry's thoughts. He was probably sulking somewhere.

"Mister Potter, drink this." Madam Pomfrey stood beside his bed and forced a vial in his hands. He uncorked it and didn't even have to ask what it was; he immediately recognised the smell.

"I won't. Sorry."

Her face darkened dangerously as she swooped down on him.

"It is-"

"A Calming Draught, I know. I don't need it," he said, perfectly calmly. He had to hide his irritation though, the debate with Dumbledore just started to be interesting and he wanted to resume.

"That is for me to decide."

He looked at her coldly and saw her pale again.

"That will be alright, Poppy. Would you please excuse us?" asked the ex-Headmaster. He apparently still had all the respect from the medi-witch, because she complied without a word of complaint. As she was retreating, Dumbledore patted Hagrid's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. The half-giant stood up, came over to hug Harry one more time and left as well, muttering.

"What did I do, sir?" Harry asked, worried, though he was quite sure he knew the answer. He was right.

"You morphed. Only a little... I suppose your skills aren't as extensive as, per say, Nymhadora Tonks's."

Harry met the twinkling eyes with determination. Suddenly he was glad that Dumbledore was there, grateful for all the man had ever done for him and didn't grasp how could he ever have thought he hated him.

"Sir? What- What did I look like?"

"When, Harry?"

"When I woke up." Dumbledore's eyes didn't sway. Harry knew this time he was going to wise up the truth.

"Like somebody else. Not yourself yet... the difference wasn't so great. I suppose you can not make a too great difference. With some training you probably will be able to change your hair, face, skin-colour... but do not expect much. Maybe a little height-difference." Harry tried to smirk, but he felt rather sad. He was robbed of the chance to become an Animagus because of minimal morphing ability. Life wasn't fair.

"In point of fact, sir, why can't I be Animagus?"

"It's very much alike the effect of Polyjuice Potion, Harry. These skills cannot combine. Last time a Metamorphmagus tried the Animagi, she..." Dumbledore hushed, saddened.

"She?" inquired Harry.

"She melted. Lost control over her shape. Died."

There was a while of heavy silence. Harry didn't want to disturb Dumbledore's recollections, but eventually decided to speak up.

"Sir, what you were saying before Madam Pomfrey came... about the use of ghosts in the war... How come nobody ever thought of it before?" The ex-Headmaster's head snapped up sharply and he smiled wanly, as though trying to assure Harry he was fine.

"Oh, of course they did. But it's nearly impossible to persuade a ghost to fight for your cause."

"But, why? I mean... It's not like they could get hurt. And there's virtually nothing that can stop them, being incorporeal and all..." Dumbledore shook his head.

"They aren't incorporeal, Harry, merely immaterial."

'Of course. I'm being stupid... should start thinking again.' He kicked off the blanket to prevent getting too hot. The sun was high and it was another warm day.

"So... Why haen't you asked Nick? I'm sure he would be happy to help-"

"Sadly, Harry, you are mistaken," Dumbledore contravened, "Ghosts generally aren't interested in the wars of the living. And we shall be grateful for that... Most ghosts are bitter and vengeful, that being the reason _why_ they didn't move on after their death. They are attracted towards the Darkness rather than the Light.

The light namely tends to blatantly expose that they are dead."

Trying to avoid another while of uncomfortable silence, Harry squirmed and spoke again.

"Sir, I have two more questions."

"Spill it up, young man."

"The third time you saw me morph," he said darkly. It wasn't exactly a question, but Dumbledore didn't mind. He was quite easier to deal with, without the phoenix in his head.

"It was the night in the Ministry of Magic."

Harry gasped. He didn't know what he awaited, but this certainly wasn't it.

"When I was possessed..."

Dumbledore confirmed that his guess was right.

"For a while there you very much resembled Tom Riddle of your age, though you didn't look exactly like him. I dare say it was due to your limited abilities, however poorly it might sound. The mind of Lord Voldemort willed your body to look like Lord Voldemort..."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"Harry, do you remember what you felt and acted like that night?"

Harry nodded, ashamed.

"Like an ultimate prat."

The ghost inclined his head, sending a few strands of silvery hair float through the air despite the lack of breeze in the room.

"I cannot but agree; you were distraught, Harry. There was no way I could add one more thing to your burden." It was hard to accept. But Harry made effort and, eventually, succeeded. Though the subject wouldn't stop nagging him.

"Sir, what you told me that night... About the Prophecy... That _is_ true, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. I might have kept facts from you - I'm not proud of it - but I never knowingly lied to you... Now, what is the other thing that bothers you?" But Harry suddenly couldn't remember. So he threw in a substitute.

"What did you want to talk to me about? I'm afraid I missed the appointment."

popopopopo

Days passed. After the initial instructions Dumbledore gave him, Harry had been left to take care of himself. At first he had thought he would feel lonely, but he had been mistaken. When Fawkes called him a 'trainee' he didn't take it utterly. He should have.

The first day of summer holiday he woke up at dawn with a rather nasty shock that caused him to set the draperies on fire. But who wouldn't have if an angry bird had screeched right into his ear? He had been forced to do _exercise_. By the time when he usually ate breakfast he felt dead. He had formed a very good picture of how the hundred and twenty-something years old wizard had kept so fit - as long as it didn't kill him it made him stronger. That was the start of the nightmare.

Harry's schedule over the first three weeks consisted of a 'morning warm-up', as Fawkes haughtily called it, sessions with Dumbledore, in which he was introduced to as much of the Dark Arts as decency allowed starting with further details about Tom Riddle's life, mostly from his years at Hogwarts, and studying. He was left to research and learn what he wanted to, even to use the books from the Restricted Section of the Library, though the phoenix kept an eye on him almost constantly, 'in the case he would try something inappropriate'. He didn't. He didn't have the power to try anything; every night he returned from the Library he fell into his bed in the way too large bedroom, closed his eyes to block out the view of four empty beds and fell asleep. Instantly. He would dream of the past, mostly. Of his parents. Of Sirius. Of Dumbledore... Those dreams usually turned into the memory of him being murdered. Snape sneered at Harry.

He lost count of the days. From the letters Ron, Hermione and Ginny had been sending him he estimated the end of July was nearing. And with it his birthday.

When he walked into the Library that morning he was startled to find Dumbledore waiting for him. The ex-Headmaster spent very little time keeping him company - Harry ascribed it to his work for the Order, though he wasn't sure exactly what was the resident ghost doing. As the few people staying in the castle (Hagrid, Pomfrey, McGonagall and probably Trelawney, though he didn't spot her) were told to 'not bother him', he enjoyed every chance on a conversation.

"Good morning, sir," he said casually and deposited a stack of notes on 'his' desk, next to a pile of books. He didn't bother putting them back into shelves every evening; Pince was gone for holiday and he would need them again, so there was no point. He smirked, realising that Hermione would have had a coronary seeing him like this.

"Morning, Harry. Do you have a little time for me?"

He arched an eyebrow. A little time? He had all the time in the world, secluded in the castle.

"I have new instructions for you."

"Do they include meeting a mortal?" Harry asked sarcastically, sitting down and putting his feet comfortably up on the next chair.

"I thought you were visiting Hagrid every now and then?"

The boy shook his head sadly. After the night he had stayed at the cabin, having decided he would rather wake up smelly and happy than clean and sour, those visits had been... eliminated.

"Fawkes reckons that the visits had been distracting me." Now he only ever saw McGonagall, who agreed to the 'Dark Arts lessons' taking place in the Head's office. And Dobby, of course. He could have seen Kreacher if he wanted to, but somehow no company seemed more appealing than Kreacher's company.

"I'm sorry, my boy. It seems that you aren't getting on too well?"

"Actually it is better than what I feared at first... He doesn't stick with me all the time. I was afraid I won't have a bit of privacy, not even in thoughts. It turned out that apart from being a meddling bastard he's quite nice." Which was very close to the truth. Harry didn't scorn the phoenix as much as he had the first days, though he didn't come to like him either. "You said you had instructions?" he reminded unnecessarily. He wasn't particularly eager to hear them, but it might have turned out that he would get to do something fun. Or maybe he would have a day off, but that was probably getting his hopes too high.

"Starting tomorrow you will continue learning Occlumency."

Harry glanced up at the flittering ghost. Now that sounded interesting.

"Who's going to teach me?"

'Dumbledore apparently not. Neither Snape.' His heart leapt at the happy realisation that he wouldn't have to see that stinking Death Eaters' visage in none of his lessons, ever again.

"Fawkes."

Harry groaned. There went all his hopes of seeing a living human. Dumbledore gave him a look of compassion. "I really do feel sorry for you, Harry."

popopopopo

About an hour later Harry looked up from the _Advanced Duellist's Tutorial_, older but well-written book, to see Dumbledore still hovering in the room, watching as he read. It was, after all, a rare occurrence to see _this_ student study.

The quietness and lack of other occupation usually helped Harry concentrate, but the ghost seemed to invade that pattern. He felt his focus slipping away. Realising that he wasn't able to return to _How to avoid unseen obstructions - Duel in Dark_, which was the third volume, and so far the most enlightening, he slammed it shut. The green ribbon fastened to its back removed itself to the page where he left off.

"What's going on outside the castle, sir?"

Dumbledore descended to a level where Harry could look at him without craning his neck, chuckling.

"I already started being afraid you would never ask. Do you have something concrete in mind?"

"Voldemort," Harry replied without hesitation.

"Very well." Dumbledore repositioned himself so that he appeared to be sitting on the edge of the desk. "Tom has a lot of trouble these days. He is running short on pure-blooded wizards willing to join him. He went as far as to 'import' some foreign families. He started an imperial propaganda in the western Europe, so, obviously, he didn't have so much time to cause havoc home. Some of the wizards who went to hiding actually felt safe enough to return."

"Who?" Harry asked anxiously, hoping to hear the name 'Florean Fortescue'.

"The Whitehorns. Tiberius Ogden. Gaspard Stringleton and Greta Catchlove. Roland Kegg, to my greatest dismay, but don't tell him, please, if you were ever to meet. Ollivander...(1)" Harry knew most of those names, but wasn't really interested. He was glad to hear Ollivander didn't indeed side with the Darkness, however, Fortescue was still missing and he had a feeling he won't eat another ice-cream at his Parlour.

"So there is relative silence?" Dumbledore affirmed it with a nod. Harry muttered grimly. "Calm before the storm."

"I quite agree, quite agree... "

"There were no deaths?" Harry asked incredulously. Not even Voldemort's absence could discourage the blood-lusting Death Eaters.

"Several Muggle villages were raided. There was a slaughter in a Muggle evidentide home. Apparently no one survived, though we do not have a clue what might have been the motive. Griselda couldn't find any relations to whatever wizarding family, and she had dug through the entire archive because of it..." Harry didn't intend to listen to a ramble about Dumbledore's old friends, so he cut in.

"And the politics- uh, I mean, what is the Ministry doing?" Dumbledore consoled himself with a sigh and a head-shake.

"Not much constructive, so to say. Though I must admit that the Minister's precautions _helped_ in preventing an attempted break-out from Azkaban. Lucius Malfoy remains where he belongs..." he said, as though reading Harry's mind. Which he now, of course, couldn't, but he apparently knew his student well. "On the other hand, the Goblin Liaison Office had a dangerous cross with the Gringotts. Several very important Goblins already were about to join Voldemort."

"But didn't," Harry said, hoping that he read the ghosts expression correctly.

"I had a word with the Director and his wife. They decided to remain neutral in honour of my cousin and old friend Oswald... And the Goblin population mostly follows the Director's example."

"So we don't have to worry about fighting Goblins to get to our gold? Good."

Dumbledore shook his head muttering something Harry knew he wouldn't have liked if he had heard it.

"Do you have any new information on the Horcruxes?" The ex-Headmaster looked at him with an uneasy frown, apparently fighting an inner battle. But he had promised to tell Harry the truth. Whatever else he might have been, he was also an honest man. Relatively.

"We do. We have localised the one that had been removed from the Cave... But I won't tell you more information, Harry. Not until you are prepared to face the Dark Arts on your own. The next time I won't be there to your aid." There was a finality in that statement. Harry knew that he could have argued as much as he wished and it wouldn't move the spirit.

"How did you find out? Do you know who is R.A.B.?" he inquired, briefly looking towards the back of the Library where the yearbooks filled several shelves. Was R.A.B. a former Hogwarts student?

"We received information from our spy," Dumbledore said, an amused smirk playing under his semitransparent beard. "It seems that Tom had been gloating about the end that met the traitor after our fiasco with the fake had been disclosed to him. And yes, I know the identity of the traitor." He made a dramatic pause, much to Harry's annoyance. He felt no need for drama, rather the urge to return to _Advanced Duellist's Tutorial_ before Fawkes found him idling.

"Who was it?"

"Regulus Black." Harry smacked his head. Hermione was going to be so mad at herself... It was an amusing prospect.

"Of course! Sirius did say that Voldemort killed him... But he said that Regulus tried to back out from something. That he didn't like what they told him to do..."

"Harry, I doubt that Sirius had accurate information, seeing as not even the Death Eaters outside the Inner Circle did." Harry's eyes narrowed.

"You have a spy in the Inner Circle? Still?" He felt his insides burn with wrath. Snape, that slimy greasy maggot was bad enough to get so close to Voldemort... But where could Dumbledore find another one with _seemingly_ wavering loyalities?

"I do. However, Harry... By chance I know that Fawkes won't be returning before the dusk today, so... how about you make a break and use the time to train morphing?"

popopopopo

(1) Want to know who are these people? Look at the Chocolate Frog Cards from the game Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (for PC)

Read + Review To be continued  
Alas, the next update will take more time. I'm going into wild and the computer resolutely refused to accompany me. He's staying home, sulking. I'll let him. So, until the next time.  
Brynn


	4. Wilkie Twycross

A/N: Well, this is not really an update, but it is something of equal, if not greater, importance:  
Thank you everyone who reviewed! You are making me feel like I'm doing something that's worth attention.  
And most important: **Thanks to my beta reader Kate!**

Chapter 4: Wilkie Twycross

Harry practised. His muscles ached from the physical training, but he was determined and the more he managed to change at will, the more fascinating his skill seemed to him.

Dumbledore was quite right with the estimation of his abilities. By now - about a week after he started - Harry could freely change the length of his hair from below waist to nought, make it straight, wavy, curly (he didn't dare risk dreadlocks) and his colours ranged from his original ebony to a Weasley red and he reached brighter shades every day. He didn't manage to get blonde yet, though he wasn't sure whether he wanted to know what would he look like if he was blonde... He also practised with skin, comparably successfully. Once he tried to change his nose. It obediently grew into a large hooked monstrosity, but then he, with utter abhorrence realised it flatly refused to change back. It took him about an hour to look like himself and he didn't try it again since. He wasn't keen on repeating the experience.

One thing he found out rather quickly was that no matter how much he concentrated, he was unable to change anything about his scar. Dumbledore repeated himself yet again, saying that the scar is a great enigma, and nobody really knows anything about it and he shouldn't worry; he ought to focus on other parts of his body. And so Harry did, though with all his other tasks he found it extremely demanding.

Most of his energy was undoubtedly consumed by the Occlumency lessons. After Snape told him repeatedly that he sucked at anything that touched the subject of controlling his mind he thought that it was going to be painful. Somehow, strangely, the lessons had been a roaring success. Maybe it was because Fawkes chose a completely different approach. He simply entered Harry's mind and started showing him around, explaining what was what, how to discern it, understand it and use it. During two sessions with the phoenix Harry came to know more about his mind than he had ever before. And knowing his weapons was the first step in learning to use them - something that the slimy ulcer of a Potions master never thought of.

That was another strange thing... Snape. Harry had been sure he won't be able to get the man off his mind, that he would spend his every free while plotting revenge, manufacturing severe ways of wiping the man off the face of Earth... Maybe it was his lack of free whiles, but he didn't spend time hating Snape. Dumbledore's presence somehow distorted all his feelings about the murder... it was hard to plot revenge for the person he conversed with daily. And so the painful, sharp, pointed feeling he had about his former teacher the last day of term reduced into a platonic loathing the weaker, the longer he didn't get to see his sneering face. Which continually abandoned even his dreams.

The eight Occlumency lesson with Fawkes started as all before. The phoenix had Harry come over what he had already learned, clear his mind and create a shield that was surprisingly (according to Fawkes) strong enough to avert the attack of an advanced Legilimens.

'It seems you have a natural talent for this...'

Harry laughed.

'Hardly. I have never exposed any with Snape teaching me.'

'Then he couldn't have been a good Occlumency teacher,' Fawkes stated flatly and abandoned his golden perch to get hold of a box of chocolate muesli McGonagall had stashed in a wooden cabinet in the back of the office.

"He wasn't a good teacher generally. And you should respect the Headmistress's privacy lest she won't let us use her office again," Harry said surly. The phoenix preached about manners, but this was a subject it always seemed to turn a blind eye to.

'You are wrong. Severus was an extraordinary teacher, both in Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. And Minerva knows I cherish her secret snack; she even put it into a place I can easily retrieve it from. A good girl.'

Harry's scowl yet deepened. Fawkes chirped, which was his idea of a scoff.

'Be a little objective, Harry. Severus is a clever man, and a courageous fighter.'

"And the reason why everyone who ever tried to protect me is dead. I don't feel like praising him. Not now. Not ever. And I would rather avoid this subject in the future if you don't mind." Was it his imagination or did the phoenix look at him with pity?

'You ought to be more open-minded.'

"Am I not currently trying to close my mind?" he shot back and felt his concentration evaporate. The lesson was doomed and both participants knew it. Harry lay back in the fluffy armchair he transfigured from a straight-backed chair and made himself comfortable. Fawkes capsized the box and dragged the corn all over the Headmistress's desk. Genius maybe, but he still was a bird.

'Don't complain. If I was human you couldn't have my feather in your wand.'

"Yea, I know- wait! Does that mean..." Harry gave the phoenix a curious glance. Of course, the wand chose the wizard, but... was it possible that his wand had had such a significant assistance with the choice? Fawkes merrily tweeted and continued pecking off the mess he created.

'Dumbledore did have one, too. He was such a skilled boy, haven't seen any like him since Merlin.'

"And Merlin?" Harry asked. Surely the phoenix couldn't have been such a great and such a long-time manipulator...

'Yes, of course. Most of my charge's have become well-known, though you didn't even need that.' It was. Maybe it was easier when you burnt every few decades, it was said that fire purged the soul off sins. However, he knew about at least one more person who received such attention and it was a mystery to him why, as he seemed to be exactly the sort that Fawkes plotted against.

"But that means that Voldemort..."

'Ah, yes. A very powerful young man - sultana, Harry? I don't like them too much... No? As you wish - not quite as skilled as Albus, but he had what it took. I wanted him to take care of the next Dark Lord after Grindelwald - that one was Albus's. I couldn't know it would turn out like that.'

"No one could," Harry sighed. Anyway, it was rather ironic that Fawkes had expected Voldemort to exterminate himself. "What about Ollivander?"

'Crafty. We made a deal. A long time ago. He didn't like flying.'

"Is that important?" Harry asked. He never thought of that before, though Fawkes sometimes joined him when he flew (he had been allowed to practise Quidditch as a part of physical training).

'Not necessarily...' admitted the phoenix, but it was more than clear that he wouldn't like to put up with person who spends all of their life with feet on the ground. 'The three of you - Harry Potter, Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore - were all excellent Quidditch players.'

"Dumbledore played Quidditch?" Harry tried to imagine the tall old wizard clutching a Beater's bat and chasing after a Bludger, silver hair streaking through the air like a comet's tail. It didn't look too believably... though it was true that Dumbledore flew on a broomstick the night he was murdered, after having been poisoned and overall exhausted, and held himself exceptionally well. That night was too hectic for Harry to give it a thought then.

'Of course. He made the house-team in his first year... Made himself _noticed_.'

"But I was the youngest player in..."

'Century. Almost exactly,' Fawkes filled in. Yes, of course. But having been raised in the Muggle world it was hard to think of your Professor as a person who played Quidditch hundred years ago... creepy.

"I never knew... He didn't flaunt it too much, did he? So that's why he let me play?"

'Yes. I had to _peck_ him a bit about it, reminding him of a certain eleven-year-old blue-eyed midget... How quickly the world changes. You could have been his Great Great Great Grandson..'

'God save us,' Harry shivered mockingly.

'Oh, well, he never was much of a family man...'

"Have you ever left him alone long enough for a date?" Harry asked scathingly, having a very good idea why Dumbledore wasn't spending his time sitting in a cosy living-room, surrounded by a crowd of little children. It would have suited him significantly better than a broomstick.

Fawkes didn't answer, but threw a glare in Harry's direction and let him know what a hangover felt like. The boy promised himself never to consume enough alcohol to get drunk.

'You won't have lessons tomorrow. After the warm-up make yourself presentable and come here at eight. Don't be late. You can go now.' Harry stood up, gave the phoenix a mocking bow and exited the room.

'No lessons tomorrow? Why... Darn. That's what I got for hoping I was through the worst.'

popopopopo

"Ah, Mr Potter. Finally," said a cheerful feminine voice as Harry entered the Head's office, five minutes to eight.

"Good morning, Professor," he replied politely, lifting an eyebrow in Fawkes's direction. He _was_ on time. And he _was_ polite. There was no reason for the phoenix to glower like it did. McGonagall, who stood to leave as she usually did when Harry entered (though he had no idea what made her wait for him every time), didn't miss the exchange.

"Don't worry, Mr Potter, he makes the sour face because he won't be going with you." Harry allowed himself a small chuckle, but Fawkes was sulking and didn't bother thinking up a disciplinary.

"He's afraid of letting me out of his grasp..." Then the Headmistress's statement finally got into his brain. "I am - I mean - where are we going, Professor?" McGonagall looked at him questioningly while she put a dark-green travelling cloak off the rack next to the door.

"You haven't been informed?"

Harry shook his head. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was one of the things she had added after occupying the office.

"I'm afraid we don't have time for an explanation. I will inform you along the way. Follow me, Potter."

Harry sneered at Fawkes, waved him goodbye, and rushed after the woman. As he half-expected, she lead him out of the castle. There she waited for him to catch up and walk by her side, so she could talk to him. But it was Harry who spoke first.

"Professor, what's the day today?"

She looked at him, shocked.

"You don't know?"

He shrugged.

"I didn't really have to follow the calendar."

"It's Wednesday." That wasn't really helpful.

"And the date?" If McGonagall looked shocked before, then now she was thunderstruck. He wondered if it never happened to her that she lost count of days... on the other hand, she probably never was isolated from the world by a ghost and a bird for the purpose of training from down to dusk.

They treaded the same path as the carriages rode. It was a hot day. Harry, wearing jeans and T-shirt, felt tempted to jump into the lake and couldn't grasp how McGonagall lived in the cloak. The only thing that made the weather bearable was occasional breeze. It ruffled his hair and cooled his overheated body.

"It is the seventh of August."

"It's already August?" Harry gasped. He had missed... half of the holiday. His last month as underage wizard. His _birthday_. How could he not notice?

'Because I didn't get any cards or presents,' he thought, suddenly feeling lonely for the entire past month. He didn't expect much, but at least a mention that they thought about him...

"Yes, Potter, it is already August. And now, if you let me get to the point; I am taking you to the Ministry of Magic and hand you over to Arthur Weasley. Professor Dumbledore warned me to not let you escape and though I am not sure what he meant, I hope you wouldn't try to do something foolish."

Harry gaped at her. The witch watched the lane as though to not step into something nasty and paid him absolutely no attention.

"I don't have a clue..." he said truthfully. McGonagall obviously didn't care, putting the matter aside as something that was just between Dumbledore and Harry. She walked in hurry, as though trying to finish the trip as soon as possible and return back to her cool office.

"Why are you taking me to the Ministry?" Maybe he was going to spend some time at the Burrow with the Weasleys. Or in the Grimmauld place... That wouldn't be _as_ nice, but still an improvement...

"You are going to take your Apparition test; Professor Dumbledore somehow managed to arrange a special term for you. You ought to be grateful." She sighed. "Although I understand that it is pressing for you to have received your licence at your earliest convenience."

There went all his hopes once again. It puzzled even himself how he was still possible to think so positively, optimistically. He walked in silence until they reached the large gate. One of the stony boars gave them an inquisitive glance, but quickly went back to heating up in the sun. They were not more interesting than a random fly. Harry had never before noticed the statues move; either it was something new, or even they lowered their attention during holiday.

McGonagall, unconcerned, pushed the metallic wing open and stepped through it, out of the line of Hogwarts campus. Harry followed, feeling a gentle tickling as he crossed the wards.

Behind the two of them, the gate fell back and locked by itself. McGonagall finally lifted her gaze from the grass and for a fleeting moment it seemed to Harry that she looked troubled. She scowled at him and speedily gripped his wrist.

"Don't dawdle, Potter! Ready?" He looked up at her, intending to inquire what was she talking about, but she mistook the look for a confirmation.

The sensation wasn't nearly as nauseating as when he Side-Along-Apparated with Dumbledore; probably because he had come through the training in the meanwhile or simply because he became used to it. When he was finally sure all of his organs were in the right places and his skin properly covered his entire body, he opened his eyes. He stood in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. McGonagall still clutched his wrist firmly - he felt his hand going numb - and dragged him away from the place where they landed. A second later Harry had a very good idea why. With a loud _pop_ a tall but hunched wizard appeared on the spot he had just abandoned.

"Oh, pardon, very sorry, Madam, sir..." He motioned to bow, which looked positively ridiculous with his built, and rushed away, getting lost among the bustling crowd of journalists.

Harry glanced up at McGonagall, who was frowning after the man in rather macabre fashion.

"Uh, Professor, could you please let go now..." She finally remembered he was there and immediately released his hand.

"Sorry, Potter." She threw one last glare of utter abhorrence towards the crowd, muttering something that sounded a lot like 'imbecile brute giving another public self-praise'. Harry was thunder-struck to hear the strict teacher speaking like this, but would rather charm his tongue to jelly than inquire about it.

"Come." She gestured to the desk near to the Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had been skilfully repaired, though coming closer Harry noticed that the yellow metal it had been patched up with didn't look that much like gold... Maybe the Ministry missed the Malfoys' financial support.

A young witch in a peacock blue robes - whom Harry considered quite pretty until she looked up from the book she was reading and he saw her face - stood up when she saw them approaching and waved them to step to the side of her desk. She held a golden rod, the same as the wizard he had encountered last time, and very much like two years ago Harry's front and back were scanned. In the next few seconds McGonagall patiently (though with her mouth thinning each passing moment) endured the same process while the brass like wand-weighing instrument buzzed, examining Harry's wand. He felt slightly nervous without it in his possession, but it was nothing to what McGonagall looked when it was her turn.

The Security witch skimmed the narrow strip of parchment the instrument produced and handed it over to them. The anxious Headmistress read it and nodded, handing it over to Harry.

_Eleven inches, phoenix-feather, 6; Eleven and a quarter inches, dragon-heartstring, 65;_

He nodded as well.

"Have a nice stay," wheezed the blue-clad witch and waved them off. Harry completely understood and appreciated that she wasn't saying more than one sentence. Apart from the voice being a lot like Umbrige's was, she sounded like her throat was badly sore. He tried to smile at her and must have succeeded, because she beamed at him. He was glad to be leaving, because the moment he turned away his face bore a terrified expression.

He tried to erase the image from his mind as McGonagall steered him to the stairs. He had expected them to use a lift, but when she halted only two floors under the Atrium he admitted that the wait and squash wouldn't have been worth it. A sign on the wall read:

_Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation  
Floo Network Authority  
Broom Regulatory Control  
Portkey Office  
Apparition Test Centre_

It was complete with arrows, indicating where were they supposed to go, though it turned out unnecessary, at least for himself, because that very moment a rushed and dishevelled Arthur Weasley ran up to them.

"Good morning, Arthur; take him, please, I have some business elsewhere and don't forget what Albus said." McGonagall didn't give the scatterbrained red-haired wizard enough time to even say 'Morning' back to her and virtually ran off.

"Mind you, the woman has stamina..." mumbled Mr Weasley and flashed Harry a bright smile. "Merlin, is good to see you again, boy! You've grown up, Molly will-" he hushed, as though he just remembered. Then he gave Harry a half-sad, half-scared look. "Never mind that... How have you been? Ginny has been asking about you." Harry shook the wizard's hand and let him lead the way down the windowless, absurdly sun-lit corridor.

'Ginny... I should have though more about her... But then, would it make her feel better if she received more letters from me?' Harry doubted that. He had once decided to distance himself from Ginny. She had taken it amazingly and he loved her all the more for it, but it would be unfair to keep reminding himself to her. He didn't want to cause her more pain than he already did.

"I'm fine. Can't complain," he replied absently.

"That's splendid, Harry. I am so relieved, Molly had been worried about you." They stopped in front of a slightly ajar door. "You are a bit early... Well, Wilkie will be glad. He's come here today only because of you... Go on in."

Harry pushed the door open and it revealed what looked like a small empty gym. There were hoops on the floor, the same they had been using in the training and in the corner sat cross-legged a familiar tiny wizard. Upon Harry's entrance he hastily stood up, without the assistance of his hands, which he used to clutch a large orange envelope.

"Ah, Mr Potter, let us get started if you don't mind," he said merrily. If he was hiding impatience, Harry didn't recognise it.

"Good morning, Mr Twycross," he said, remembering all the 'greet, greet' Fawkes had been drumming into his brain every time he got a chance to. The small wizard brightened yet more; probably wasn't used to get much _mannerly_ treatment.

"Good morning to you, too. Now if you would please stand here in this hoop - or do you have some questions before we start?" Harry shook his head, being led to one of the circles on the floor by his elbow.

"Excellent! Don't forget: Destination, Determination, Deliberation! So, Apparate for me to this marking, please." He pointed to another hoop - the closest one to where he was standing. Harry concentrated. It had been long since he last Apparated; he could do it without troubles then, even though he didn't like it much, but if he was able to get into it without practise, not having been forewarned - that was a different question. He blinked.

When he looked up again, drawing a long and rejuvenating breath, he stood exactly where he was supposed to. Wilkie Twycross appreciatively nodded.

"Very clear. Now to this one, please." He pointed to a hoop in the far corner of the room. While Harry squeezed himself through the imaginary rubber tube, the wizard marked something on a parchment he retrieved from the envelope. Once again, he had successfully reached his destination. Wilkie smiled at him encouragingly.

"Outstanding! Now that would be for the accuracy; we have yet to test you for a longer distance - have you ever Apparated far way?"

"Only Side-Along," Harry replied, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach. What did Dumbledore laid him in again? He completely disregarded the fact that so far he showed no troubles whatsoever. In fact, it seemed easier to him than ever before.

"That is fine. Don't be nervous, I will be there - the worst that can happen is splinching."

'Well, that does not calm me a bit.' Harry now felt inclined to simply homicide the butterflies. He got a glimpse of Mr Weasley, still standing in the doorway, watching and milling the rims of his long wavy sleeves in his hands.

Twycross patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"No worry, no worry, I do have a Healer Diploma and a special course for treating splinching. You are in adept hands." Knowing this did ease Harry's mind a bit. Nevertheless, he started wishing it would be over, not really caring if he passes or fails, though he would distinctly prefer a pass.

"So, I suppose you have been to Diagon Alley-" Wilkie cast a questioning glance at Harry, receiving a confirm. "Well then, how about we meet in the Leaky Cauldron in ten seconds?" He Disapparated.

Harry looked uneasily at Mr Weasley. He didn't know what he looked for, maybe just wished to see a friendly face, or hear a few words of encouragement and trust. Mr Weasley clutched his fists, white-knuckled, staring at Harry with anticipation.

"Good luck, Harry."

That was all that it took.

popopopopo

He must have been holding his breath, because he felt a burning need for air when he had the ground under his feet. He breathed in and started choking immediately. He heard fast steps, a pair of shoes impacting with wooden floor, aiming to him.

"Mr Potter, are you all right?" yelled Twycross's voice, filled with fear. Harry looked up and spotted the small man just as he halted next to him.

"Yeah- Yes- I'm- fine-" he managed between chokes.

"_Vulnus Revelo_!" Wilkie said, pointing his wand at Harry. Apparently he only ensured what he was already told, because he laughed with relief and patted Harry's back. It did help a bit; the choking gradually subsided.

"It seems you have only inhaled something; completely unrelated to Apparition! Oi! I think I need a small refreshment..." He looked around and spotted Tom, wiping a table off some spilled drink of rather ugly pink colour and set out towards him.

With a crack that threatened to send Harry into another choking fit, Mr Weasley materialised just behind him.

"Harry? Are you whole? How did it go-" Harry turned around to assure the man he was complete and didn't miss any body-part, which should have been clear to him, as there was obviously none left at the Ministry.

"Fine, Mr Weasley," he replied calmly, being pulled into a short but fierce hug. Still, it felt nice to know that someone cared about him to the point of getting worried about his Apparition test.

"At least so it seemed to me."

"You have a nosebleed, Harry," whispered Mr Weasley, checking on Wilkie, who was buying a glass of pumpkin juice. "You won't fail, but they would take a few points and-" the wizard smiled, "-it doesn't sound as cool as telling you were perfect. Don't worry, I won't tell a soul." He gave Harry a wink and let him wipe his face. The amount of blood was minimal; in fact, it was hardly enough to call a 'nosebleed' and had stopped sooner than he got to treat it.

Meanwhile Twycross returned, scribbling something on his parchment.

"Ah, Arthur! You didn't have to check on us. Anyway, could you two gents now return to my office, please? I will show you all the documents there."

Harry sighed, closed his eyes, _inhaled_ and Disapparated.


	5. Mr Weasley

A/N: I know it took a long time… sorry. I'll try to update more regularly now.  
Brynn

Chapter 5: Mr Weasley

He reappeared at the same time as Mr Weasley, standing next to him in the gym-like testing room. The wizard smiled at Harry and shook his hand.

"Wilkie looked happy. That means you passed," he enlightened the startled teen. "I wanted to be the first to congratulate you-"

"Eh, you overrun me, then, Art," came an amused, though maybe slightly disappointed response from the door. Twycross, with the merry smile constantly plastered on his face, wordlessly gestured them to a cosy square room next to the gym. White walls were littered with pictures of children and young people, most of them happily waving at the photographer. Despite being simple, it made an impression of joyful person decorating it.

Wilkie sat behind a desk, which was the largest piece of furniture there, and put down the parchment he had been carrying all along.

"Full score, Mr Potter! At your first attempt! Congratulation!" He, too, shook Harry's hand while waiting for some squirming figures on the parchment to organise themselves and come to a standstill. Then he fetched a new quill from a desk-drawer and signed it, passing both items to Harry and indicating a spot where he ought to sign.

"I only have a handful like that every year... Like your boys, Art, four of six on the first try! An exceptional family!" Mr Weasley laughed from behind Harry's back, as there wasn't enough space for him left in the tiny office. All tension was gone and forgotten.

"And what about your boys?" Wilkie's eyes shone.

"They're gorgeous, Art, you should come over and see them sometimes, and Molly as well. I swear they are twice as big as they were month ago!" Harry scribbled his name and handed the parchment back to Wilkie, who put it inside the orange envelope. It sealed itself and he rubber stamped the back side with gusto.

"So, Mr Potter - signed, sealed, imprinted and ready to be delivered. It's my great honour to be the second one to congratulate you to passing you Apparition test, as Art over there stole my ordinary first position." Harry found his hand being shaken again, but he didn't mind. He felt happy, happier than he had been ever since the beginning of the summer. He did something himself, without help. Something that made people around him _happy_. Such a thing happened rarely, and he cherished the feeling.

popopopopo

About ten minutes later, walking by Mr Weasley's side towards _his_ office, Harry was still foolishly grinning. He was a legal adult, he could legally Apparate, he wasn't shut alone in the Library... It was a nice day so far.

"Harry..." Mr Weasley spoke for the first time since they left Wilkie Twycross's presence. "It probably isn't my place to tell you, but you are almost like a son to me..." Harry looked up curiously. What could irk the wizard so much? Why did it present such a trouble to speak straight to the point?

"I am terribly proud of you." Harry's eyes widened.

'That was it?' Obviously that _was_ it, as the man didn't say anything more. He laughed.

Mr Weasley joined him, and neither of them felt like stopping before they reached their destination.

The room was empty, apart from few memos circling under the ceiling. It was very different from the office Mr Weasley had been sharing with the old warlock Perkins before he was promoted; it looked like a mixture of Aurors' mess and a block of precisely ordered archive. On the right side, next to a sink, stood a counter with a collection of random Muggle objects. A grey Muggle coat hung off the rack. It was long enough to sufficiently cover wizard's robe, should the need arise.

Mr Weasley slumped down into a roller chair and conjured a recliner for Harry under an _old_ framed picture of the whole Weasley family. Ginny looked particularly cute there, sporting two braids with ribbons on their ends...

Harry's heart sunk.

"I have to leave. Emergency. Wait for me here, Harry," said Mr Weasley, looking up from one of the memos. "The toilet is the third door on the opposite side down this corridor, if you needed something else, don't hesitate to ask anyone. Oh, and-" he turned to a floor-to-ceiling case and raked inside for a while. He handed Harry _a book_. "To past time. Dumbledore told me to give this to you. Now, promise me you won't leave."

Harry looked up, a little irritated. Why did everyone think he would escape the moment he gets out of their sight? It was becoming slightly obnoxious.

"I won't," he said, willing himself to remain calm an not show his annoyance. Mr Weasley beamed at him.

"Thank you." With that he was out of the door.

popopopopo

The book was bound in leather, old, and obviously second-hand. It had no words or picture on the outside. Harry for a while contemplated whether it was a good idea to even open it. He didn't know what it could do. It could have screamed, bit, burn his eyes, or suck him in or, leastways, not let him read it...

'Dumbledore said I should get it. He wouldn't have if it was dangerous, would he?' That decided it. Harry set it down on the desk and slowly, carefully, turned over the front page.

It didn't scream nor bite nor suck him in. Generally it showed no sign of violence. The figures inside didn't move and no display indicated that it was anything but an ordinary book.

There was a title in smart black writing: _Survivor's Book_. It had been written by Vivax, though Harry had no doubt that was a pseudonym.

'_Survivor's Book_?' He wondered what subject could that refer to. By the look of it he would guess the Dark Arts or Defense Against the Dark Arts, and knowing that in was coming from Dumbledore only strengthened that theory. He flipped over to the next page and read.

_1. First Aid - Basic Medical Potions_

Harry blinked.

'Potions? No, thanks.' He didn't feel like reading about that subject. Though medical potions were featured in many books on duelling or Care of Magical Creatures he had read over the last month. He usually skipped that part.

_2. Preparation_

_In my entire life I had encountered about fifty dark wizards, several of them repeatedly, and in less than five percent of those cases I expected it. Sure, with my job it was likely to meet many of them, but I tell you this: you can not know who is after you. One day you walk out of your house through the front door and as soon as you cross your wards you will have a curse cast in your direction._

_If you are serious about living long, you must accept the fact that dark wizards are frequent, dangerous and unpredictable. Therefore, before you walk out into the wild, make sure you have a vial of each of these potions-_

Harry looked up from the book. This was getting... suspicious.

'Two chapters on potions in the row? What kind of book is this?' Significantly cheesed off, he ruffled through the pages.

_3. Antidotes_

He turned the book over and looked at the last heading.

_33. Felix Felicis - When Everything Else Fails_

"He sent me a book about _potions_?" Harry groaned. He didn't have the smallest bit of liking for the subject. He wouldn't read a page about it if he didn't have to for lessons. It was the last direction he would go in his self-study. But.

He had to sit there. Alone. For Merlin didn't know how long, presumably several hours. He had nothing better to do - correction, he had nothing _else_ to do. Surely a book on potions was better than no book? And, after all, maybe he would learn something and please Slughorn, when the man so stubbornly failed to see that Harry wasn't a little mind with natural talent for throwing things into cauldrons.

With another heartfelt sigh he flipped back to the first chapter and started reading.

popopopopo

When Mr Weasley entered the office again it was five in the afternoon, Harry had eaten nothing since breakfast, but managed to get to the middle of the seventeenth chapter. He checked the number of the page and shut it, without giving it a second look.

"What a day! I didn't know where to go first and then- ah, sorry, Harry, I really didn't make it sooner. You must be bored... Have you had lunch?" Harry shrunk the book and deposited it in his pocket, determined to return to it.

'Dumbledore's dead and still one Hell of a manipulator! He tricked me into reading about potions and made me damn enjoy it!' It was hard to believe, and he would be the first to scoff himself, but that text was interesting... no, rather enthralling. It was _brilliant_. Genius. Written a way that was both fascinating and easily comprehensible - so easily, that from fifth to eighth chapter he finally understood first four of Golpalott's Laws (which not even Hermione managed to elucidate to him).

"It's been alright. I've had something to read and... I was not really hungry," he said quietly and reluctantly moved his mind away from the Perenelle's Draught of Invisibility. From what the author claimed, there was a potion substitute to every vital spell. Sure, it _did_ sound as a complete and utter balderdash, but in those sixteen and half chapter he almost _proved_ it!

"You should have got something, Harry. It's not healthy to skip meals... Oh, the right man talks - I'm starving! And Remus says that Fawkes is waiting for you in the HQ, so how about you come over for dinner? Molly's cooking."

Harry's heart jumped. His eyes virtually radiated excitement.

'Sure, it is not like meeting Ron and Hermione and _Ginny_, but it will be wonderful!' If he had thought about it and not only rejoiced, he probably would have had realised that if there were going to dine both Molly and Arthur Weasley, their children wouldn't be far.

popopopopo

Harry wanted to make it a memory - his first legal independent Apparition. But he didn't have the chance.

He arrived in the hall with the obligate crack, too late realising he should have chosen another room because of the portrait of Sirius's mother. He braced himself for the coming screech.

Silence.

He looked up at the wall. The moth-eaten curtains were gone and the painting was replaced with a new one, still smelling of oil-paint. It was currently empty, but for a broomstick, propped against a large box. During the year he hadn't come here, somebody managed to finally get rid of the obnoxious dark witch.

He sighed with relief. Mr Weasley was nowhere near; he must have Apparated into another room, probably the kitchen. Harry set out down the adjacent corridor, lighting candles on tall twisted candlesticks modelled from some dark metal, by cracking his fingers. It was a bit of wordless magic he had learnt while practising for DADA during the last year, though it was good for nothing but making impression.

'Didn't Mr Weasley say Remus and Ron's mum were here?' The soundlessness in the house was creepy. His look swayed to the side and he found that the same person who did away with the portrait in the hall disposed of the heads of house-elves. It definitely was an improvement, but right now Harry didn't pay it much thought. He should have heard something. The building usually echoed with the smallest noises being carried along passageways... He shuddered.

'Fawkes?'

No reply. That was bad. Very, very bad. If Fawkes didn't respond, he must have been far away. Mr Weasley wouldn't have lied, nor would Remus. Fawkes _had been_ waiting for him there, surely. Only something made him leave...

'Has there been an attack?' Harry drew a sharp breath and slowed down. What would he give to have the Invisibility Cloak now! But he didn't bring it; he didn't even know he would be leaving Hogwarts today. He couldn't guess...

'Had Voldemort finally found the location... the Fidelius Charm ceded working after Dumbledore died? They couldn't have overlook this, could they?' The gloomy corridor filled with his dancing shadows, each a feat of one of the candles he lit. The door to the kitchen stood slightly ajar, a narrow strip of light coming out of it and spilling on the carpet. He crept closer, carefully, without a sound and pushed it open.

White flash blinded him and an extreme noise erupted; Harry though 'Protego' and a bubble of blue light surrounded him. He wished he had been able to see to confirm that there wasn't a stampede tumbling at him and somebody called "Surprise!"

"Mione?" Harry asked, desperately wishing for his sight to come back. It did, slowly, gradually, and in the meantime he felt hands, patting him.

"Happy birthday, mate!" yelled somebody to his right and he saw a blur of red and blue coming to him.

"Ron?" Harry squinted. Yes, it was his friend, as freckled as ever, sunburnt, but grinning madly. The room slowly came into focus and Harry gaped, while laughing and crying Hermione threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm so glad to see you; we were so worried-" Harry's mind was numb. He stood there, dumbstruck, while what seemed like half of the Order of the Phoenix - but in fact was only the part he considered 'family' - rotated past him and shook his hand or hugged him, depending on who was the person currently in front of him. Molly Weasley planted a wet kiss on his face.

When the stream of happy people subsided Harry finally started catching on. One thing was clear - the Headquarters definitely _hadn't_ been overrun by Death Eaters.

"What's going on?" he asked uncertainly of beaming Hermione, who seemed to organise the chaos.

"A surprise party for you, of course! You didn't think we would forget about your birthday, did you? Even though it is a bit late…" And she rushed off to the back of the room to look after some multicoloured pile of... Harry wasn't sure what.

"It was Mione's idea," Ron remarked, skimming the crowd as though trying to find a familiar face. "She said it's a Muggle tradition... I don't know about that, but she said it in front of dad and you know what is he like, bugged mum so long until she gave up." Harry looked around. Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fred and George Weasley were sitting around the table, which bent over the weight of food, while Fleur chatted animatedly with Remus, who tried to escape her. Tonks scowled at them but eventually caught Harry's eyes and smirked. He forced himself to grin back. Something was missing.

"Where's Ginny?" he asked under his breath. Ron, surprised, looked around.

"Dunno, mate. She's been here just now... probably went to the bathroom?"

"Yeah. Probably," Harry muttered and his heart sank almost faster than it had arisen. He feared the reason was a completely different one. Ron shrugged, as though to brush the matter off.

"Look, she'll be back in a minute... They-" he pointed and the table, "-are waiting for you to unwrap presents..." There was something awkward in Ron's voice. He was trying to hide something... But being the centre of all attention in the room, Harry decided to leave the matter for later.

Ron grabbed his sleeve and dragged him to Hermione, muttering about 'crazy girls with dangerous ideas'. Harry was really scared back there for a while, but wouldn't call the idea of a surprise party 'dangerous' anyway. But he was much too glad to be with his friends to object.

"Wotcher." Tonks had abandoned her seat and, nose high up in the air, long platinum hair (that looked glaringly like Fleur's) falling down her back, had come to meet him. When she reached him she winked conspiratorially and took his free arm. He flashed her a lugubrious glance.

"Er, Tonks... Is... I mean, you and Remus..." she grinned after making sure Lupin was looking other way.

"Everything's best Harry. I don't worry about Phlegm, if that's what you've been so _politely_ trying to suggest."

"Ah, right," Harry said, fighting not to blush or otherwise indicate he was ashamed. In an odd way he wished Fawkes had really been there... But it was healthy to be left on his own for a while.

"By chance I know that they are discussing 'Bill's little problem', as Remus refers to it, and that he doesn't enjoy it a bit..." Her grin widened almost unnaturally, exposing two rows of perfect teeth. She steered him next to Hermione, who meanwhile managed to get hold of Ron, though by far not as modestly as Tonks had had of him. He blinked and looked away.

'Maybe Ron overdrew the 'training' with Lavender... I would have thought Hermione would moderate him a bit.'

"I'd like to have a small talk with you, Harry... Not now, later. Tomorrow, perhaps," Tonks whispered in his ear. Obviously she wasn't keen on widening the subject too much. But he had a little hope he would be allowed to stay so long... This way he already lost a day. Fawkes would be fuming.

He leered inwardly. Making Fawkes fume might have been worth it...

"About what?" he whispered back. "Could you come and see me at Hogwarts?" She nodded, ignoring the first question.

'Whatever. I'm going to find out tomorrow anyway.'

"Oh, good evening, Mr Potter!" sounded a mocking voice from behind him.

"Why, it's such a pleasure to see you with a lady, but save the sweet words for later-"

"-and don't let your audience wait." If the twins were bored it was the highest time to make something happen. Harry didn't feel like becoming the target of their next prank.

"Jump to it, man!"

"Accept the expressions of our utmost love!" Two hands roughly nudged him towards the medley pile of what he now recognised as a collection of brightly wrapped presents. The amount reminded of Dudley. Harry staggered and kneeled down on the floor. It was pleasantly cool in the heat of the August day.

popopopopo

It was a mystery to him why did they find it so interesting, but everyone in the room seemed to be watching him as he unwrapped the curiously-shaped packages, eager to see his reactions and wondering what have the others brought for him.

Apart from a variety of W.W.W. products he was given a plain-looking Hogwarts school robe complete with gloves and hat, though as Harry now knew what to search for he noticed it had a series of enchantments on it (obviously it originated in the back of the twins' store) and a bag of sweets. Hermione, to his amazement, bought him a Weight-Lifting Expandable Back-pack, but avoided him every time he tried to inquire about how did she come to such a idea. From Fleur he got a book about kitchen-charms, which earned him amused glances from all around the room and a howl of laughter from Ron, but the red-head abruptly shut up, hearing Harry mutter the words 'my sweetheart'.

The greatest surprise, though, was mouth-organ. He had no idea who it was from, but it must have been someone with Muggle relations, because it wasn't known in the wizarding society... At first he suspected Mr Weasley, but the perplexed expression on his face showed he had absolutely no clue what the weird metallic object might have been used for.

When all of the visitors felt that they had spent enough time admiring Harry's presents, they all settled at the table. It had to be magically stretched, together with the entire kitchen, so that all of them squeezed. The 'dinner', as Mr Weasley had referred to it, though it seemed more like a banquet to Harry, consisted of four courses plus the desert, with a choice of various dishes. When he finished his piece of cake (it was chocolate with almonds on the top - exquisite) he wasn't sure he would be able to move again that evening, not to mention return to Hogwarts. Lupin finally freed himself of both Fleur and Tonks and sneaked over to Harry.

"Cheerio, young man. Haven't seen you in a long time. You've changed." said the wizard, giving Harry an odd look.

"Yeah. I've just eaten more than Crabbe and Goyle together... 's bound to change one a bit..." the boy replied, leaning back and wishing that his stomach would manage to get over the cruelty. It didn't seem so at the moment.

"So... Isn't Dumbledore torturing you?" Harry shook his head.

"Nah. He's been teaching me some cool stuff... Well, more like talking to me about it. Is all he can do now - perceive, think, talk. But he's a lot better fellow..." he stated with obvious irony. "I haven't heard from you lately." Lupin didn't send him a single letter since the start of the holiday.

"Been busy..." muttered the man, throwing a quick glance at the witch with the platinum mane of now curly hair. Harry chuckled.

"Is good to see you two together. And Ron and Mione..." Something clutched his heart and he was suddenly painfully aware of both Ginny's absence and the fact that she didn't even send him anything. A short note would have been fine. She was silent.

"May I enter the private gander-party?" asked a male voice from Harry's other side.

"Sure, Bill. Take a seat-"

"Maybe we could have _more privacy_ somewhere else? This place is overcrowded."

Harry personally thought that was a great idea. He chanced standing up, followed by Remus, and was glad to see he managed to walk to the lounge, where the three of them slumped down into the silken armchairs.

"Thanks for the rescue, gents. I was afraid I won't get out of there for the whole evening..." Bill sighed and conjured a glass of wine for himself. Harry and Remus glared at him. He laughed and acquiesced to materialise two more glasses. Remus took his in a dignified way and took a sip.

"Not bad, Mr Weasley... So, may I ask what exactly have we saved you from? It didn't _accidentally_ have anything to do with a pair of young blonde witches-"

"-absorbed in a girly talk? What made you think that, dear friend?" Bill theatrically raised an eyebrow and sent Harry into a choking fit, which resulted in him spilling the wine all over himself. Fawkes would have pecked his fingers off... He waved his wand and cleaned his clothes, but half of the liquid was sadly lost.

"Alright, I concede, it was Fleur and Tonks. But mum was on the way to join them and can you imagine..." This time Harry managed to laugh without spilling any of the contents of his glass.

"Such are the galls of the married man..."

Harry blinked. He had forgotten...

"I've missed your wedding?" Bill nodded, saddened. "I'm sorry... I really wanted to go."

"Yeah, we really wanted you to come. I've asked Dumbledore, but he said that you couldn't." He shrugged. "But it's not like you've missed much-"

"But Mrs Weasley in the wedding dress," interrupted Lupin. "Tonks refused to talk to me for the rest of the night." Bill laughed, not without a trace of vanity. The scars on his face made it seem a bit sinister.

"But it's not like you've been the only one ogling her. I've seen Hermione gave Ron a rather painful punch - Harry, you really ought to let her spend more time with other girls! What kind of lass _punches_ a man?"

"Our Mione," replied Harry proudly. Not that he had any merit in that, but she was _his friend_. Then he sneered mischievously. "So, the turtle-doves had a fight about the bride? And I missed that?" Bill faked a sorrowful expression.

"It was nasty, Harry. Poor Ronald had to mend his broken heart... Glued it with a bottle of Old Ogden's. Or two."

Lupin disapprovingly shook his head.

"You didn't have to see that, Harry, trust me. He spent the next day in bed, though he looked so pitiful that Hermione eventually had mercy and made up with him."

Harry _did_ trust him. He had once seen Ron spit slugs, and it would last his for the rest of his life, without further unpleasant sights...

His stomach seemed to take that mental image as the sign to turn over and Harry ran out to the bathroom, leaving two very bewildered men behind.


	6. Ginny

Thank you everyone who reviewed (3 after the fifth chapter)! I don't wanna sound ungrateful or anything, but if you like the story and want me t continue it, please review! And if you don't like it and want me to delete it, than review too, I don't know without you telling me.  
So, for you who are interested:

Chapter 6: Ginny

Harry finally felt fit to abandon the toilet about fifteen minutes later. The sour taste in his mouth was washed up by comfortably cool water, though his freshly empty stomach still spurned every thought of food.

He had washed his face and cast a weak Peppermint Charm on himself - he didn't feel like explaining to Mrs Weasley that her delicious meal was wasted. He opened the door and was about to step into the dark, candle-lit corridor when he froze.

Back to him, a black-clad wizard with all too familiar greasy black hair stalked in the direction of the hall. For a split second the universe froze for Harry and he gaped, wide-eyed, at what he thought to be a creation of his imagination. It had to be. No one in their right mind would let... would let _Snape_ into Grimmauld Place.

'That excuse for a wizard is a killer! A filthy stinking _murderer_!' He blinked, but the mirage didn't vanish. _He_ was there. Real. Material. And altogether too alive.

Harry felt like screaming, but first the shock and then his brain restrained him. Slowly, careful not to cause any noise, he reached for his wand. He retrieved it, and precisely aimed, taking a second to make sure he would hit on the first try. He wasn't as stupid as to believe he would get another chance, after knowing the duelling skills the Death Eater presented last time they met.

He had to lean forwards, clinging to the door-frame, but his hand was steady. His head was devoid of any emotion; all he knew was that the man in front of him deserved to die. And he - Harry - was going to make it happen. He opened his mouth to speak the incantation.

"_Silencio_." It was a whisper, lighter than breeze, and it came from about two feet from him. Harry didn't have time to shield himself or to dodge; he was hit square in the chest. A small but sturdy _invisible_ hand pushed him back into the bathroom and held him there. He wanted to fight at first, but then realised that whoever was there with him didn't intend to harm him.

All they intended was to stop him from harming Snape and, apparently, they succeeded, for the next moment the noise from the street penetrated the house, closely followed by the front-door being slammed shut.

"_Sonorus_," whispered the same voice as before, though this time distinctly feminine. Something threw itself on Harry and the next moment he held an armful of a small red-haired witch sobbing into his chest.

"Ginny!" he said dumb-struck. She sobbed harder. "Ginny - Gin, where- what's wrong?" He closed his arms around her and just held her. She was quivering, grasping his T-shirt spasmodically and wetting it with tears. He couldn't guess what was going on, just that she was crying - _Ginny_, the strongest girl he had ever met, the fierce, never giving up to despair and always prepared to face whatever the fate might stand in her way was _crying_. It was breaking his heart yet again, over and over with each desperate sob.

And then it hit him.

'Snape! That bastard, that cursed ulcer had hurt Ginny!' Harry's face contorted with anger. His eyes blazed and he subconsciously squeezed the girl harder. She choked and stared up at him, eyes red, face streaked with tears and whispered.

"Harry..." Her eyes widened with fear; her sobs instantly ceased. Then, to his shock, she reached out and touched his face.

"I- I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you angry- I know we-" Harry's hatred for Snape reached all-time high. The bastard dared to harm Ginny and then caused her to think he was angry with _her_?

He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and opened them again. His voice was calm when he spoke, his face impassive.

"No. You have nothing to apologise for. That bastard should be sorry, but it won't help him the next time I meet him-" Ginny choked again, gaping at him. He had to forced himself to not lean forwards and kiss her... It hurt worse than he would ever have imagined. But it was _his_ decision.

"You know?" she asked quietly, a silent, resigned tear trickling down her pale face.

"Know what?"

"That Snape-" She hushed, as though forgetting what she wanted to say. She rested her head against his shoulder.

"He hurt you," Harry stated frostily, but trying to keep the rage from his voice. She looked up sharply, brown eyes flaring.

"No way!" Harry's mouth fell open. Of course Snape hurt her! Why else would she cry? Why would she deny it?

"Snape hurt you," he repeated, attempting to persuade her to admit it. She let go of him, wiped her face into her sleeve and glared at him.

"No, he didn't and I won't repeat it. I suppose that it would be _me_, who knows best that he didn't."

"Then what?" It might have been personal, but she had come to him for comfort. She wouldn't have if she minded him knowing.

"I just heard... Heard something really sad. I'm sorry, Harry... I'm sorry I wasn't there for the surprise and-" She reached into her pocked and recovered a small angular package wrapped in dark blue paper. "-that I couldn't give this to you sooner. I sort of didn't want to flaunt it, anyway..." She pressed it into his hand.

Harry eyed it, taken aback by her sudden change of mood, and proceeded to unwrap it. Inside was a simple dark blue plastic box. As though he didn't know what to do with it, Ginny took it from his hands and opened it. Inside was a short coppery chain.

"It's supposed to sort of watch over you," she explained, doing it up around his wrist. Harry wangled his hand, examining the tags hanging from it in the faint light of the bathroom.

"The anchor reminds you that you have a place to come back to. Home. The heart symbolises people who love you and that you'll never be alone." Harry stared at it. That was so much like Ginny. He ditched her, and she would give him an object that should protect him, or rather, help him stay strong.

There was one more tag.

"Ginny? What about the cross? It's not for the God, is it?" She shook her head.

"That could be a Muggle interpretation. It's for the Light... Harry, no matter what happens out there, promise me that you'll never turn dark. Please..."

"Ginny..." he gasped. How could she think something like that of him? He hated Voldemort and Snape and all the Death Eaters, it was what made him himself. It was an essential part of him. But the way she was looking at him...

"I promise." She sighed with relief.

"I know you never would. I just... I guess I needed to hear it from you." They stood in silence. Harry knew they should probably get out of there, but he felt reluctant to.

"So, where have you been all the time, Ginny?"

"I- I was- Promise me you won't tell anyone, Harry." The sadness returned to her face. Before he realised what he was doing, he hugged her.

"Come on, would I?" She smirked wryly.

"Well, Fred and George taught me these few clever tricks I definitely shouldn't know and I kinda wanted to try it out... I roamed the house and then I came across Snape... I didn't know what to do at first. After what you said... You know, I wanted to hex him, but until I came to myself he already was inside a room so I- I went there and, well, eavesdropped a bit..."

"Eavesdropped?" asked Harry, taken aback.

'Snape, the traitor, walks in the centre of the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix of all places, lets an underage witch follow him around despite his Legilimency, and then has a nice loud monologue in an empty room-'

"I know I shouldn't have, but I heard Dumbledore say-"

"Dumbledore?" Harry yelled. Ginny gave him a reproachful glance.

"Sorry- Dumbledore?" he asked quietly. She thoughtfully nodded.

"Yeah. They had a long talk about Voldemort and Death Eaters, Snape named a lot of foreign people, but I don't remember the names..." Harry tried to convince himself that this wasn't happening. For one blissful moment he believed that it all was only a hoax, that somebody only looked like Snape - maybe Tonks, or somebody Polyjuiced as him... But then it all came tumbling down.

"They talked about you."

"Me!"

"Harry, please, try to remain quiet - yes, you... Dumbledore said you were a Metamorphmagus, is it true?"

He nodded. He wondered why didn't everyone already know it - was it possible that the Daily Prophet hadn't published it the day he had found out?

"So that's how."

"How what?" Harry asked, more harshly than he intended to.

"When I came here you looked different..."

"How different?" Did he change without wanting to? But how? It always took him an effort to will his features to morph... Could it be because he was angry?

"Dunno- different. For a while you looked taller... and your hair is kind of not messy and you had that- that-"

"What?"

"That expression," Ginny said quietly. Harry would have punched himself - he had been so angry that he scared her.

"I'm sorry. Do I look normal now?" She smirked bitterly.

"What do you look like normally? I haven't seen you in a month, Harry - there's a mirror behind you."

He turned around. He looked quite like himself, but his hair was longer and straight, though fortunately he didn't bleach it. He could have given her a greater scare if she had found him red-haired.

"I'm loosing control over this... I should get a grip..." he mumbled while Ginny watched him, mesmerised, as he returned himself to his original shape.

"Wicked!" she meant.

"Thanks. Oh, listen, now that I look presentable we should probably get out of here..." Ginny nodded and lead him out of the room. Harry was immensely grateful that the corridor was vacant - he didn't know how would he react if anybody had seen him and Ginny together leaving a _bathroom_.

popopopopo

Harry followed her upstairs to a room he knew to be hers and Hermione's. She halted in front of the door and knocked in a complex pattern. He watched her with raised eyebrows.

'She's _knocking_ before entering her own bedroom?'

"Not now!" sounded a shriek, muffled by the thick wood. Ginny frowned.

"Hermione, just dress yourself and send him to unlock to door! You have ten seconds before I blast them! Ten... nine... eight..." Harry fought hard to suppress laugh. There was a loud squeal in the room, followed by bustle of clothes. Ginny reached three and raised her wand.

"Two... one..." A very red and slightly out-of-breath Ron opened the door.

"Right on time. Come in, Harry." She ushered him inside past her brother who tried to look annoyed, but managed only a feeble glower. Hermione was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the wall and watched the scene with a mixture of irritation and excitement. Ginny obviously wouldn't have disturbed if something important didn't happen.

"Make yourself comfortable, Harry, this might turn out to be a long talk."

He sat on the floor, cross-legged, resting his back against Ginny's bed. Ron, still feigning umbrage, closed the door and returned to keep his girlfriend company, pulling her over to sit on his lap. Ginny rolled her eyes and put up a heavy Silencing Charm. The moment she sank on her bed, somewhere behind Harry, the atmosphere in the room rapidly changed.

"Where were you, Ginny?" Hermione asked harshly. "I thought you agreed to-"

"I did... He didn't tell you?" Hermione shook her head. "Ronald Weasley!" Ron tried to defend.

"I didn't get a chance! Fred and George were watching me all the time; I think they suspect something..."

"Of course they do! They always suspect something. But they didn't follow you here, did they? Men... No offence meant, Harry."

"None taken-"

"I followed Snape around."

"Snape?" Hermione yelled.

"Middle-aged, tall, hooked nose, greasy hair, git... you remember him now? Yeah. Snape."

"But- But- What was he doing _here_!"

"He was reporting to Dumbledore," Harry said quietly. He felt three stares at him, though he kept gazing at his hands. They were pale. Paler than they were supposed to be.

He didn't want to admit it, but he would have to be either a total moron or completely blind to not see it. Snape killed Dumbledore, but the ghost of his victim welcomed him back. The ex-Headmaster still trusted Snape, trusted him as he did before, unconditionally, with certainty, no matter what people around him were thinking and telling him.

Despite the popular belief, Harry was not stupid. He could put two and two together. He knew Dumbledore tried to prepare him for it, what with the -"I had to choose between two people, lest both of them would die. One death was avoidable. I decided for the more important person to live. Do you think you can understand that?"- talk.

He felt his insides go cold. So Dumbledore considered Snape more important than himself? Was his continued spying on Voldemort - _if_ he did really spy on _Voldemort_ - worth the loss of the greatest wizard, the only one Riddle feared?

'But did we really lose the one Riddle fears?' nagged a voice in Harry's head.

'Fawkes?' he asked.

'Yes, or yes, depends on what have you asked. You have slightly disappointed me, young man, though as you have also pleased me today, I will restrain from embarrassing you in front of your friends.' Harry sighed. He was up to a long night... and he had to do warm-up in the morning. Sleep-deprived.

'You let Snape kill Dumbledore? Just because he wasn't so important anymore to you?' The Headmaster had been important to Harry. But apparently, such detail had no significance in the phoenix's schemes-

'Of course not; it was Albus's decision. I do not expect you to see the whole scope instantly, though I must admit you have pleasantly surprised me by how much you have deduced yourself.'

'Could you please leave me for a while?' Harry asked, balancing between many contradictory emotions.

'Of course. I'll be in the library with Albus if you needed me.'

Harry looked up. They were still staring at him, shocked mute. He turned around to look at Ginny.

"Have I again..." She nodded and passed him a mirror from her bedside. It was not so bad. He was pale and his cheekbones stuck out a bit - that didn't happen to him before, but was easily mended. By the looks of his friends' faces he knew they hadn't been told, either.

"I'm a-"

"Metamorphmagus," cut in Hermione. "Yes, I can see that." She was gazing at him in awe. He was grateful neither of them reproached about the fact that he kept it secret.

"Don't tell anyone, please. I think Dumbledore doesn't want to broaden it-"

"Well, of course he doesn't," Hermione said sharply.

"What do you mean?" inquired Harry.

"You have enough attention as it is. Haven't you been reading the Prophet?" He shook his head. "Just the Ministry used the fact that neither you nor Dumbledore can speak up against them, and they keep inventing interviews with you. It's nasty, sometimes. To put it simply, they made the poster-boy of you whether you agree or not-" Harry scowled.

'Scrimegour is asking for a fierce retribution... I'll ask Fawkes... Later.'

"Dumbledore doesn't speak up against them?" he asked when the meaning of what Hermione had said hit him. She shrugged.

"He can't. As it is now, nobody but the members of the Order knows about him and he wishes to keep it so. You can tell that the Minister wouldn't hesitate before confining him to some dark secluded place." That made sense. From what he understood the ghost had been sort of a spy himself, now that he could get pretty much anywhere he wanted to. If he was to be strapped somewhere like Moaning Myrtle they would lose him again.

"And to you being a Metamorphmagus;" spoke Ginny, "The Ministry is registering all wizards with special skills now. You should be careful in the public because if they find out..." Harry smirked bitterly.

"I'll be in trouble."

Ron gasped, as he finally caught on.

"You should learn to control it as soon as possible," Hermione said fearfully. She had a very good idea what might have been his sentence if the Ministry got wind that he deliberately ignored their decree.

"Or," Ron said quietly, darkly. All gazes turned to him. "One more reason to do it, Mione."

Harry wanted to ask what the Hell was he talking about, but Hermione was faster.

"You're right. We'll do it."

"Do what?" asked Harry. He was obviously the only one there who had no idea what was going on, as it was Ginny, who answered.

"My brother and his _girlfriend_ had thought up a clever plan about how to get around Dumbledore."

"We will go to Godric Hollow with you as we promised, Harry," assured him Hermione.

"Yeah, mate, and we'll go track down You Know Who..."

"The entire surprise-party was only a reason for you to come here, so we can lift off in the middle of the night. Nobody needs to know until the breakfast, and that won't be before ten..."

"Right, we'll have a head-start; not even Dumbledore will be able to track us down..." added Ron, completely disregarding that Dumbledore wasn't able to do any magic in his current state.

Harry for a while looked at them incredulously and then laughed. During all the training and 'brainwashing' - as he called it in the privacy of his mind - he had undergone since five weeks ago he had not thought about the resolution once.

'We might be able to get around Dumbledore, but we can never dodge Fawkes.' Anyway, he was grateful they had made such effort, for him. Hermione's gift now made sense as well. 'That's Mione - always practical.'

"Thanks, guys, but no." The only response he received was a dumb-struck, disbelieving silence. "I meant what I told you in June. I want you three to return to Hogwarts. I need to know that you are safe."

"But, Harry-"

"No, Mione. Please, listen to me. Whatever happens until September, and I have no idea what might, you must return to school."

She freed herself from Ron and climbed off the bed, kneeling in front of him.

"But where will you-"

He shook his head.

"I don't know. Don't count of me. Don't change any of your plans because of me." He had no idea what plans had Fawkes in store for him. All he knew was that the phoenix had lead wars against tens of Dark Lords and always won, and thus it was reasonable to listen to it. He tried. And he promised himself to keep trying as long as he was able to remain in one room with it an not blow things up.

"But we are your _friends_," objected Ron. Harry looked up at him, smiling sadly.

"I know. And it means the world to me."

popopopopo

The goodbye later that night was tensed. Neither of them said anything about Harry's refusal anymore, but the only one of them who seemed to agree with him was Ginny. And even about that he wasn't sure.

Mr Weasley watched him closely as he packed his presents into the back-pack he got from Hermione, probably making sure that Harry wouldn't do precisely what his friend tried to talk him into doing. As though it wasn't enough that he would have Fawkes on his neck the moment he tried anything.

Receiving another series of hand-shakes, hugs and kisses Harry left the company and walked into the Black Library, enormous luggage on his left shoulder weighing virtually nothing. He was nearing his destination, when he felt presence close behind himself. Someone was hiding in the shadows.

He cracked his fingers and a single flame sprung to life, illuminating Ginny's face.

"I should have known," he muttered, hardly loud enough for her to hear.

"I wanted to see you one more time."

Harry looked at her; he didn't need Legilimency to know what she thought.

"I don't know if I will be going anywhere anytime soon."

"Precisely," she said quietly and walked up to him. "If you do, think about me now and then, would you?"

She hugged him. Harry smiled.

"You know I will."

'I'll always will,' he thought, but didn't say it aloud. That was a promise he couldn't make to her. Living with a phoenix had taught him about evanescence. Especially in war.

"I love you," she whispered and ran away before he could respond.

'I love you too.'

popopopopo

If Fawkes watched the conversation (Harry was quite sure he did) he didn't show it, and for that Harry was grateful. Neither did he say anything about the prepared escape and the refusal.

He told Harry to catch on his wing and _Apparated_ them both into McGonagall's office. Though tired, he neither missed the opened bottle of Firewhisky on her desk, nor the glass with Everlasting Ice Pyramids next to it. The Headmistress's day had gone wrong.

Without mentioning anything that had happened, Fawkes sent him to bed.

Harry changed into his pyjamas and threw his clothes over the back of a chair, putting the charring off until tomorrow. Something small fell out of his pocket. He took it up from the floor and drew his illuminated wand-tip closer to examine it.

It was the _Survivor's Book_; he laid it on the table and went to sleep. It was the first night after a long time, when his nightmares returned.

popopopopo

A\N: Be nice and review… Please?  
Brynn


	7. Tonks

A\N: I'm so honoured! So many so wonderful reviewers… Wow, I hink I could get used to this… Anyway, thank you for encouraging me, I have a bit of troubles right now, but I'll try to spend as much time writing as possible. I promise.  
Sam: I suppose they could try to make him register, but what is the point when everyone already knows it anyway? Though they might try to check whether there isn't another Parseltongue around… Ginny uses the term 'special' loosely, the Ministry, of course, determines what kind of people they want to have registered (Animagi, werewolves, Metamorphmagi, Seers…).  
Don't forget to review if you like this chapter.  
Brynn

Chapter 7: Tonks

Harry arose from his throne. The view of a circle of dark-clad kneeling figures made him feel whole; next step on his way to the absolute power was accomplished. And that needed a celebration.

He didn't have to search for an opportunity - it was waiting for him. He had put it on stasis, but not anymore - tonight was the night he will have revenge for incompetence, revenge for disobedience, revenge for cowardice... His eyes, sharp even in the obscurity, skimmed the line of his minions, coming to a halt as he looked upon a significantly smaller shape.

Harry knew he was seeing through Voldemort's eyes. He could have Occluded; he _should_ have Occluded. But it seemed that something of great importance had happened and he was willing to take the risk if he might have had a chance to find out more.

He took a step forwards, slowly, dramatically. He had so little time to play... Therefore he was going to enjoy it thoroughly.

"Wormtail!" he snapped, and a hooded man, whose only visible part of body was a silver hand, as though he was parading it, stepped forwards.

"My Lord..." said his minion, grovelling in the dirt. The small figure two spaces to the left shifted slightly. Harry's lips rolled in a cold smile.

"Bring the traitors forward."

The Death Eater gave an odd giggle and with one more bow turned around. Silvery hand grabbed the cloak of the smallest kneeling person and jerked it mercilessly forwards. The supposed traitor fell on his face. He scrambled to his feet; his mask was dirty with dust and earth. Wormtail giggled again and reached out for the next person in the row.

This one, however, didn't wait until the rat-man jerked him forwards; he dodged, jumped to his feet and ran. Harry laughed and raised his wand. It indeed was a good night.

"_Crucio_."

The curse hit the running Death Eater's back and sent him screaming to the ground. Harry truly enjoyed himself now. He quickly strode to the writhing person.

"My Lord!" called a scared voice behind his back. Suddenly angry, he faced whoever was disturbing him. A kneeling man pointed to the centre of the circle of Death Eaters. A small black-clad figure stood there. He smirked.

The traitor reached up and tore off his mask, thrusting it to _Stunned_ Wormtail's feet. Harry looked into a pair of grey eyes shining with something he didn't know.

'Hope,' he thought, too late realising that inserting his own notice or feeling was a dead give-away. And the split-second for which Voldemort froze in shock was enough for Harry to shut off his mind and for Draco Malfoy to Disapparate.

popopopopo

Harry woke up at four in the morning, but didn't feel like going back to sleep. His adrenaline was high; he knew he had to tell Dumbledore or Fawkes what he saw, the sooner, the better. He got up from his bed and changed into a random school-robe, too impatient to search for a clean Muggle attire.

He ran through the vacant dark corridors, seeing merely outlines in the feeble starlight. The vision was still fresh in his mind and it wouldn't let him stop musing about it. Voldemort turned against Malfoy... He tried to remember more details, thoughts, memories, anything that might have flashed through Riddle's mind.

'Not only Draco - all Malfoys! Incompetence: that was Lucius's failure at the Ministry; disobedience... cowardice could have been Draco's reluctance to kill Dumbledore when he had the chance...' The pity he felt for his adversary at the Headmasters burial returned, now accompanied by something else... An understanding for Malfoy's defiance.

Fawkes wasn't in the Head's office when Harry entered; it was empty. He reached up and retrieved a porcelain vase from the mantelpiece.

"_Incendio,_" he uttered, pointing his wand at the cold hearth. He threw a handful of powder from the vase into the flames.

"Burrow."

He stepped into the green fire, holding his breath. The room he arrived in was, predictably, shady and desert. But it was out of the anti-Apparition zone. Who would have thought that he would put his licence to use again already today?

With a _pop_ that evidently disturbed several slumbering portraits Harry found himself back in the Black Library. It seemed that Dumbledore made the book-filled room to his temporary residence, because there he hovered, accompanied by Fawkes who had been sleeping on an improvised perch until Harry woke him.

'Greet.'

He sighed.

'Figured. Good morning.'

The phoenix glared at him.

'And Albus?'

Harry sighed again. He was in a hurry... But why exactly, he wasn't sure.

"Good morning, sir."

The ghost looked from Fawkes to him and smiled.

"Morning to you, Harry. Can I help you anyhow?"

"Give me a minute, sir..." he replied, and turned back to Fawkes.

'I had a vision.'

'Hmm, may I have a look?'

Harry nodded and allowed the phoenix access to his memory of the dream. It took only a few seconds and Fawkes was wide awake, shining as if he just wised up very good news.

'Say goodbye.'

"Goodbye," Harry muttered as the phoenix settled on his shoulder. A whirlwind of red flames later he was back to McGonagall's office.

'Goodbye.'

Fawkes was gone.

popopopopo

'Bloody bird does not bother to tell me a word...' stormed Harry, walking back to the Gryffindor dormitory he had been the only current inhabitant of. He hated having the entire castle to himself; the soundless scene had something post-catastrophic to itself. As though there were no students to roam the halls of Hogwarts school left... He shuddered. It was up to him to make sure it wouldn't happen. The weight of that responsibility threatened to smother him.

The floor was freezing his feet now that he didn't race. Harry cursed.

'What kind of fool runs out of his bedroom without shoes because he's too excited about his sworn enemy being in danger? The Boy Who Lived. Of course.' He must have been well-nigh the only one who would do something to prevent a Malfoy from being executed. He was just a silly notorious good-heart. And going to catch a cold. The rest of the world slept peacefully, and didn't give a damn about if the pure-blooded prat was going to live to see the sun rise.

'Why me? Why is it not Ron? Hermione? Why is it not Malfoy?' But each of those questions had an obvious answer. Ron was not one to stand up from bed if he had had a vision. Ron would groan, turn to the other side and sleep until noon. Hermione was great when it came to thinking, but once she had to do something _without_ thinking, instinctively... there goes it down the drain... And Malfoy...

'Then it would be me who joins Voldemort. Not bloody likely.' But there was a certain consoling in that thought. He wasn't the only one who didn't like the arrangements. And if _the others_ could stand up, straight-back, and face death, then so could he... He brought his right hand, the one with the bracelet, into his view. It was hardly more than another shadow, but he felt it entwining his wrist.

'Of course I can. I have plenty of good reasons to.'

popopopopo

Sooner than he entered the bedroom Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to bed. All traces of sleep had long since disappeared and the messed-up sheets looked anything but inviting. He sighed, lit up the lanterns and got to work. The tidying up, cleaning his old clothes and selecting new, which he had all left for later, took him hardly few minutes. He had hours until daybreak, until Fawkes would come to wake him up. He put on his trainers, dressed in what he used to wear for physical training, and set down at the table. A book was waiting for him.

Harry's stomach churned - he hadn't eaten since he gave up the dinner. But he was reluctant to call for Dobby; the house elf could have been still sleeping and he, having been stripped off his own rest didn't feel like disturb somebody else's. Resignedly, he reached for his gift sweets collection and pulled out a box of Cinnamon Cakes, which at least remotely resembled proper food. Biting into one of the small star-shaped pastries he turned his attention to the _Survivor's Book_.

_Of course, Perenelle's Draught of Invisibility is only one of many suchlike and by no means the most fashionable in this century. However, I strongly advise you against buying your supplies in Apothecaries - able storekeeper puts the spectacular name on vials of much cheaper products. My friend, who wishes not to be named, suffered an extent hair-loss after returning to his visible self (which took thrice as much time as it should have according to brewer's information). From other disguising potions I might also recommend..._

The featured concoctions became more complex with each chapter, and Harry eventually started getting lost. They required either skill or time and room to practise to understand. He had neither.

It was seven when he finished the twenty-third chapter and eventually looked up from the book. He had been surprised to find out that the author was a retired Auror; it endeared the text to him all that more. However, there was one more surprise - Fawkes didn't come to wake him. The phoenix never let him sleep past 6:30; any other day Harry would have been already out on the Quidditch Pitch, running laps.

He stood up, leaving the book on the desk, and went down, across the common room, through the portrait hole and down the stairs that were much steadier now; the staircases didn't change directions nearly as much as during the term. He, on the other hand, had to move much more. Even if Fawkes didn't chase him, he would return and he would be angry, were he to find out Harry ignored the warm-up.

The morning was peaceful; the only sounds were the blowing of the wind, scraping of branches in the Forbidden Forest and an occasional birdsong. The sky was overcast; heavy grey clouds hung above the land and together with the wind promised a rain soon. Harry went through with his daily torture just in time; he hardly got back to the castle before big, loud drops started banging on the windowpanes.

The hallways were filled with grey, unenthusiastic daylight, but even that made Hogwarts seem as much more friendlier place than it was at night. Harry quickly did his routine cleanup and arrived in the Head's office only minutes late for his session with Dumbledore.

popopopopo

He wasn't worried; Dumbledore had all the time in the world and knew it. Since he was dead Harry hadn't heard a single berating for lateness from him. The only way he might have got told off was if McGonagall waited for him and was in hurry as yesterday.

When he entered the room, however, there was neither McGonagall nor Dumbledore nor Fawkes. He halted, unsure of what was he supposed to do. The bottle of Firewhisky and glass with ice still stood there, bearing witness that he was the only one to enter the room that day... Should he wait? Or should he go to the Library and work, without wasting time... They would find him there, after all...

"He's not coming."

Harry turned on his heel and stared at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus that was sneering at him. Weeks of Fawkes's pestering kicked in, almost automatically. He smiled.

"Good morning."

The picture frowned, not deeming the greeting worth an answer. Harry's smile didn't waver.

"Did you not understand?" barked the former Headmaster, earning reproachful glances from his fellow portraits.

"Sorry; I am afraid I have missed your point, sir," Harry said so sweetly that it threatened to wither his teeth.

"I said he's not coming - which of it you failed to-"

"Oh, shut up you old pure-coloured scribble!" yelled a tall, well-built wizard with a nest of short white hair from the next frame.

"Kindly keep your smart observations to yourself, Fortescue," Nigellus said slyly and turned back to Harry. "Potter, Dumbledore has 'asked' me to inform you that he will not be attending your today's appointment. Do you think you understand now?"

Harry nodded.

"Thank you for informing me, sir. Have a nice day yet." He stalked out of the room, leaving behind a seething portrait that mumbled something about 'insolent brats' and 'cursing Dumbledore for treating him like a messenger-boy'.

popopopopo

The gargoyle leapt to his proper position behind Harry's back. He thought of going straight to the Library, but changed his mind as he had already started one book and wanted to have finished it before switching to a new subject.

'Though a bit of cross-reading might enlighten me...' he mused, remembering that the level of education expected from the reader was gradually rising and had surpassed Harry's own a few chapters back. So he decided to merely drop into the dorm, retrieve the text and bring it up to the Library with him.

When he reached the second floor, though, his plan was crushed.

"Wotcher, Harry."

He turned around, beaming. Tonks strode to him, sodden, dripping rainwater all over the floor. She was once again back to her bubble-gum pink ultra-short hair style.

"Hi!" Among all that happened he had almost forgotten she wanted to talk to him. "How did you get inside? You couldn't cross the wards, could you?" She shook her head, sprinkling Harry's face with water. He wiped it, laughing. Since Tonks got together with Remus, her presence was the good old cheerful one he remembered.

"Oh sorry..." she muttered, drying herself with a flick of her wand. "Dumbledore _arranged_ this little nifty thing for me..." She extended her hand and Harry saw something insect-like yet metallic scurry over her fingers. It had wings, though they were folded at the moment and its body was shaped like...

"A key?"

Tonks nodded, grinning widely.

"So, young man, is there a room in this vast building where we can sit down and chat?"

"That was rhetorical, wasn't it?" Harry asked, motioning her in the direction he was going previously. She followed him to the portrait of the Fat Lady, currently without the Fat Lady, which could have posed a problem had Harry been a year younger... As it was he drew out his wand and tapped the painting. It swung open.

"You know, Harry, I've been climbing through this hole for seven years and never knew it could be opened with a tap..." said Tonks, lounging on a sofa in front of the dead fireplace.

"But you go to and fro Grimmauld place on a day basis, don't you?"

"Wow. A clever little thing you are, are you."

Harry blinked and tried to hide his surprise and embarrassment. He didn't do anything but copy what he saw other wizards do.

"So, what do you want to talk to me about?" His eyes narrowed as they fell on the metallic creature now climbing up her sleeve. "Or rather, what did Dumbledore want?" She followed the line of his gaze and smirked.

"Clever indeed! Well, my bright young fellow in trouble, the Head of the Order had divulged your little secret to me and sent me to educate you."

'Of course. I should have known... well, it's not like I wouldn't appreciate some help after what happened yesterday...' He settled in an armchair opposite the woman. She eyed him with expectation.

"So? Would you show me what you can do?" Harry shrugged.

"Is not much. Dumbledore said I didn't have much potential..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, concentrating hard. Tonks clapped.

"Yay! Harry Weasley!"

He laughed, brushing a strand of long curly wild-red hair out of his eyes.

"That's my best trick so far, I'm afraid..."

"Don't worry; it's only start. I'll get you in shape - any shape you might like!" she proclaimed loudly and conjured a human-tall mirror. She poked Harry until he surrendered and forced his tired muscles to carry him as he stood up.

For the next hour Tonks danced around him, explained what he should think about, how to concentrate, what mistakes he was doing and praising him every time he got her instructions right. Eventually they both sat down again, Harry _Accio_ed his sweets and set them in front of the woman, who managed to consume an astounding amount of them in an incredibly short time.

They discussed the possibilities their skill offered and Tonks named a number of situations in which she had used it. One particularly funny was when Snape caught her in the middle of the night and she morphed into a double of a Slytherin girl called Nena Platt (3), a distant cousin of Pansy Parkinson. It was probably the only time any not-Slytherin ever saw Snape deducting points from his own house.

"So, how did you find out you were a Metamorphmagus?" asked Tonks, jamming an entire Chocolate Frog into her mouth. "'Mbledore 'uldn ell."

"I drank a stuff that was supposed to make me an Animagus-" Tonks choked on the Frog and started spitting bits of chocolate.

"You're not serious!" she cried, thunder-struck. Harry nodded.

"You could have died!"

"I know. Dumbledore said so much to me. And he said I was lucky that I don't have better morphing ability-"

"Yeah, you are, Harry," Tonks said earnestly, "I saw enough today to tell that you can't morph your bones and you ought to be glad. Cause if you could, you would be a puddle of flesh now."

Harry gulped. The idea was... unpleasant.

"But I- I managed to make my cheekbones stand out once... Not intentionally, though... And Dumbledore said I can make height-difference-"

"You could have. By 'relocating' the fat and muscles – you didn't have to change the actual shape of the cheekbones. And if he said that, then Dumbledore erred."

Tonks gave him a while to think about it, shifting her attention to a family-pack of Peppermint Toads. There were still many things he didn't understand about his 'condition', though the session had been undeniably illuminating. However, Harry felt that something about him was shifty, not as it was supposed to be... something he missed and couldn't grasp, no matter how much he had tried. Was it normal to find out about his abilities after seventeen years of not knowing? How come he had never unconsciously morphed to evade Dudley's gang?

"Tonks? How did _you_ find out you were a Metamorphmagus?" he asked quietly.

"I? Well, we - mum, dad and me - were living in this little town... I could have been five or six years old. Our neighbours, Muggles, had a daughter; she was my age and as pretty as humanly possible. She even was in some Muggle commercial and didn't miss a chance to remind it... You can bet I envied her. So, one day mum comes to take me home and sees two identical neighbours' daughters playing together. Almost had a heart-attack..." Tonks laughed at her recollections and looked at her watch. "Blimey, Harry, I've gotta go. I'll be coming every now and then, though, to check how you're progressing and for a bit of chat... I bet you get lonely in here, don't you? I never imagined Hogwarts could get so... empty.

By the way where can I find you?"

"At this time usually in the Headmistress's office."

Though he didn't know if Dumbledore would be too happy about Tonks rushing in during his lessons. But it was his idea in the first place...

"Eek - Headmistress - that sounds so weird." Tonks shuddered, already on her way out. "I'll see you then, Harry. Oh, and if you needed something, Hogsmeade is close. You can make a trip." She flashed him one last grin and disappeared.

popopopopo

That afternoon Harry finished the _Survivor's Book_ and started another tome called _Liquid Disguise_. While Vivax's writing was captivating and easy to understand, it was also rather popular and didn't go into details (otherwise it wouldn't fit into one volume). Therefore Harry had taken to read several cautiously picked texts that expanded the subjects Vivax merely touched.

Sure, he had been doing it only because Dumbledore manipulated him into it. However, he would be stupid to evade a subject that might help him - moreover one he finds _interesting_ - only due to the fact that he was tricked into finding out he liked it. And it was pretty obvious that all trickery Dumbledore ever pulled against him was in pursue of their common goal - Voldemort's defeat.

So Harry didn't struggle and _studied_ _potions_, though he secretly promised himself he wouldn't tell anyone, to avoid the embarrassment. He wished he would have a laboratory on his disposal, so he could try out what he had learned, but such a thing was impracticable. He would have to ask someone to gain access, and he had just decided _not_ to do so.

It was late in the evening when he came back to his bedroom and, exactly as the night before, he fell into bed immediately after changing. When he closed his eyes the memory of his vision came back to him. He stared into Draco's glinting eyes... and wondered where the boy was right now. If he was alive. If he would be for much longer yet.

Anyway, it was pretty obvious that Draco Malfoy wouldn't be coming back to Hogwarts.

popopopopo

(2) Platt - Yardley Platt was a serial Goblin killer, according to the game Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets


	8. McGonagall

A\N: Thank you for your wonderful reviews! Previous chapters edited! Another one for you:

Chapter 8: McGonagall

On Friday Harry got up alone and did his warm-up solitary again. He wondered what had happened, why had Fawkes and Dumbledore left him there without a word. Over the breakfast supplied by Dobby, which he had audaciously brought to the unguarded Library, he pondered the subject. He guessed it had something to do with his vision - that was, after all, what triggered the situation - and realised he hoped that the lack of news meant good news. Concretely, that Draco was still alive.

His mind eventually swayed to Potions and he spent the rest of the day studying. The topics reached deep into the Defence Against the Dark Arts as well as the Dark Arts themselves, but that had never stopped him before and he wouldn't start being a prude now. Another day passed without any events.

On Saturday the rain finally stopped and for a change Harry returned from the warm-up wet with only perspiration. Variety of books on several inter-related subjects was waiting for him, but he decided to postpone the study and make a small investigation about what was going on in the outside world. With that purpose in mind, he entered McGonagall's office.

"Good morning, Potter," sounded from behind the desk. The Headmistress looked rather gloomy, but there was an undeniable trace of sour amusement in her voice. Harry hadn't expected her to be there.

"Morning, Professor. I'm sorry." He hadn't bothered to knock.

'I should focus on it next time... Honestly, I'm running in and out of here so often that it feels like mine…'

The Headmistress attempted to smile at him reassuringly, but spectacularly failed.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Harry didn't miss the bitterness, now that the source of her entertainment expired.

"I just wondered about Professor Dumbledore... He hasn't made appearance lately." McGonagall rubbed her temples, showing more emotion than in a year of classes together. Or had Harry merely become more perceptive?

"I'm afraid Albus will not be back for the next few days. He insisted upon going into field... By himself." It sounded strangely worried. But Dumbledore was a ghost - it was very unlikely that Voldemort would have another Basilisk in his possession, and Harry had never heard of (or read about) anything else capable of harming ghosts.

"I'm sure he will come back unchanged." McGonagall stared at him questioningly and then it all clicked. She shook her head wearily.

"Of course. He's a spirit, Potter. There is no reason to worry about him." She didn't look like she might get mad anytime soon. Harry decided to try and push it.

"But you _do_ look worried, Professor." He had had luck. McGonagall gestured him to sit down and took a sip from her cup. The liquid inside smelled like the Calming Draught, only little more acidic.

"I am not disturbed because of Albus in the least; he will be just as fine as he was when he left," she said darkly, with a hint of reproach. As though she blamed the ghost, or the man he once had been, of something that troubled her. "I was concerned about the rest of us. It seems, Potter, that I am unable to find a qualified teacher for Transfiguration. And according to Educational Decree Number Twenty-two-"

"Scrimegour has the right to appoint someone. There'll be another Umbridge..." Harry interposed, frowning grimly. They already had been through this once.

'Why does the Ministry have to continuously keep ruining everything that's good in the wizarding world?' he mused, subconsciously scratching the back of his right hand.

"I doubt that _she_ will come back, but the Minister will have no troubles finding somebody else in his staff, who is _qualified_," she sighed. Harry distinctly saw how her recently-acquired position was eating up on her. She looked like a walking bundle of nerves.

'Well, if she needs somebody to talk to and finds me sufficient...' He didn't really feel like being McGonagall's confidante, and surely he didn't feel like listening to what sort of problems come with being a Headmistress, but he sat still when she continued.

"I would gladly keep teaching, of course, but I hardly have time to sleep as it is. We will have another High Inquisitor, I'm afraid..." It was then when the witch realised who she was talking to and about what, and immediately hushed, giving him an odd look. For a while he thought she was going to be angry, whether with him or herself, but then she sighed and looked down at a pile of parchment-work.

"I'm sorry, Potter. You shouldn't be listening to this." Harry shook his head.

"Don't worry, Professor. I'm afraid I can't help you, but I've heard many things before. Worse things." Then he snickered evilly. "If there is another Inquisitor, feel free to call upon the remnants of Dumbledore's Army. I dare say we are not too worried about getting expelled."

McGonagall inhaled sharply, stared at him in shock for a while, but eventually eased.

"Don't be stupid, Potter."

He flashed her a smile.

"I'm trying, Professor. But it's not coming naturally."

The witch, quite unlike herself, chuckled, and Harry was glad to see he managed to make her smile. Even though she was nothing more than an average-liked Professor to him, it felt good.

"Professor, have you seen Fawkes lately?" Harry asked after a while of watching the Headmistress reading an officially-looking letter. She didn't seem pleased by what she had read.

"No, not in the past week. I sometimes almost believe the bird leads its own campaign... Why do you ask?"

Harry shrugged.

"I guess I'm missing him a bit." Though it wouldn't show, the statement was filled with both irony and honesty, as if Harry himself couldn't work out whether he more liked being with the phoenix or without it. He had some serious thinking to do.

popopopopo

Serious thinking was postponed the moment Harry spotted a small extremely fast object flying straight at him. He swooped to the side and caught the thing as though it was the Golden Snitch. It fluttered its wings senselessly - much like a Snitch would - and let out a pitiful squeak that not only ascertained it was alive, but also that it hurt in Harry's firm grip.

He opened his hand and examined the attacker. It was Pigwidgeon.

Pig tried to stand up, staggered and fell over as he was still dizzy. Harry let him rest on his palm and took him to his bedroom, pleased that he hadn't injured _him_ and thus _he_ didn't need medical help. The tiny owl recovered before they reached the Gryffindor common room and flitted all around Harry.

"What d'ya want?" asked the boy, slightly annoyed after the bird's enthusiastic swirl sent it into the side of his head, and rubbing his stinging ear. When he had held it, it didn't seem like it was carrying anything, however, Pig finally landed on top of Hedwig's vacated cage and stuck out his miniature leg. There was a tiny roll fastened to it.

With an enormous amount of patience Harry managed to retrieve the parchment from the owl, which anon scooped down on a bit of toast left of his breakfast. He was quite content with himself as he managed to return the mail into original size without uttering the incantation aloud, and unrolled what he supposed to be a letter from Ron.

It was a copy of Daily Prophet, as fresh as a second-hand newspaper could be; obviously the sender didn't tarry too long before forwarding it to him. There was a short message, just below the headline, written with violent purple ink.

It wasn't Rons writing. The figures were small and neat; altogether nothing like Ron's horrid scribbling.

_Harry, I know you aren't getting news from outside; this might interest you. Ginny_

Harry's heart skipped a beat. There was a little doubt the paper really came from her; after all, she had 'borrowed' her brother's owl, though he supposed that term had to be stretched to fit the situation. But... She was thinking of him. She worried. She cared.

And he didn't even bother to send her a note...

Harry was swarmed with a familiar sensation of warmth; he looked around for the phoenix, he stretched out his mind searching for it. Without result. That feeling was coming from him, from his insides. He realised he _had_ felt like that before, even when Fawkes was nowhere in the close proximity. It was something natural.

But it was gone in an instant, as soon as Harry's eyes fell upon the headline of the front-page article. He gasped and sank down on his bed. There was, most unusually, no photograph accompanying the news, though he was grateful for the fact. It probably saved the breakfast of the majority of magical population that morning.

_YOU KNOW WHO SEEKS REVENGE_

_Yesterday afternoon, Mrs Narcissa Malfoy had been found dead in her house. The Healer summoned from St Mungo's Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injuries stated exitus, apparently caused by repeated abuse of the Unbreakable Curses on Mrs Malfoy. The perpetrators are still unknown, but the Auror Office already opened a wide-scale investigation. Although the common opinion is that the murder was committed by 'Death Eaters', Auror Hestia Jones, present at the venue says: "Do you see the Dark Mark anywhere around? I suppose not - so keep your opinions to yourself; you will be informed in due time. Now let me do my job and I let you do yours-"_

_One of the witnesses, Mrs Zabini, who had visited the site that day answering the deceased Mrs Malfoy's invitation – though still very distraught - speaks: "I came as usually - for the tea – and the house elves at the main gate opened and I went inside and then - I'm sorry, I still can't believe it. I saw Cissa; she lay on the floor and I just knew something has gone wrong."_

_Curiously, according to a member of Magical Law Enforcement Squad who wishes to remain anonymous, the only son of Mrs Malfoy and her husband, Lucius Malfoy (serving a life sentence in the Prison of Azkaban - for more details see pg. 15), Draco Malfoy, is missing. Last time he was seen by Mr Platt in the company of former family friend and a wanted fugitive Severus Snape, accused of murdering Albus Dumbledore (for more details see pg.13-14). The 'no comment' from a Ministry spokeswitch leaves the public to wild guesses about what really happened at the Malfoy Manor that fateful night. However, it is hard to ignore the obvious connection of the Malfoy family to He Who Must Not Be Named and so e have to ask ourselves: was this a terrible tragedy, a carefully planned brutal murder, or a simple liquidating between the different fractions of Death Eaters?_

Harry swallowed hardly. The article explained itself perfectly, as well as the reason why Ginny thought of sending it to him. She was privy to the information he provided after seeing the vision. Which meant, naturally, that all the Weasleys plus Hermione knew as well... Though it didn't really bother him. If Ron had some problems with Harry intending to help Malfoy (if the redhead would figure out that much - Harry didn't fool himself about his friends observing abilities), he could stand up for his cause. He felt somehow stronger, more confident, when he had a clear idea about what he fought for and what he believed in.

Though there was still the fogged Snape-affair.

Harry had to force himself not to think about it. He did not have a clue about what was going on - at least this time he admitted to himself he didn't. He wanted very much to trust his own eyes; he always did before... but that trust turned out to be foolish on many occasions.

As it was now, his brain kept telling him that Snape was a murderer. Even overlooking their history - which featured enough spite for several lives - he did not deserve anything but a cell in Azkaban, as his friend Lucius was given. But if his victim himself didn't share that view... Whatever happened, Harry would always be free to hate that man.

popopopopo

The week passed quickly. It was another Thursday, and Harry was on his way back to the castle after the warm-up, when red, out of breath Tonks caught up with him. After an exchange of biting remarks to each others appearance he somehow brought her to chase him through the corridors, all the way to the Gryffindor common room.

Harry decided that Tonks had a good influence on him. She was about the only person who managed to make him feel carefree, almost like a child, even if it was only for a few minutes of wild race through Hogwarts. He was grateful for her presence. He enjoyed the exercise - with her he gained control of his body faster, as though just the fact that she stood behind him, looking into the mirror over his shoulder was some sort of catalyst. She also suggested that he kept a small hand-glass with him permanently, so he would be able to check on himself at all times. About the noon Tonks forced him to have a lunch with her, despite her having eaten herself through the rest of Harry's birthday sweets. He had a strong suspicion that her stomach was bottomless. Over the food (salmon sandwiches, made and delivered by Dobby again) the talk subsided, so he had time to ponder what did he learn today.

His morphing abilities were booming, considering his limited potential, and Harry already could make himself look like a completely different person. The only problem represented his scar, which stubbornly refused to be covered up. On the other hand, he had managed to relocate it so that it was almost covered by his hair.

Biting off a chunk of sandwich and chewing it with taste, Harry thought back to the time when all the madness started. When Fawkes appeared out of nowhere and took him as his charge, shattering all his plans for a personal war with Voldemort... When he was left virtually alone in the enormous castle... When he so dumbly almost killed himself and then woke up in the hospital wing to be told he was a Metamorphmagus. One of the first things that crossed his mind when he finally comprehended it was... The question he had forgotten to ask the Headmaster.

"Er, Tonks? If you are a Metamorphmagus, how do you know what do you really look like? How you were born?" Harry asked, unable to get straight to the point; rather ascertaining that he did have a point, first.

"Your body responds to what you want to look like, Harry. It means that once you don't have an idea, or when you lose control, it naturally returns to your original form. Like me last year... I had... an emotional problem and somehow it clashed with my morphing ability... But why do you ask?"

He definitely did have a point. His mood steeply sank, but he didn't feel like sharing his dreads with Tonks. She was a good friend, but not quite _as_ close.

"Just curious. So if I lost control over my body it would go back to what I am supposed to look like?" he said, feigning casuality.

"Yep." Harry was worried. After he had drunk the Animagi-triggering substance he _had_ lost control. But when he woke up he looked differently. Not like himself. Was it possible that... That his appearance was his own creation? That it wasn't the original, the _real_ himself? But how? Why?

'And most importantly: What do I really look like?'

After that realisation he wasn't talkative and Tonks noticed something was nagging him. Luckily, though, as he didn't mention anything, she didn't pry. They parted soon thereafter - she going back to Hogsmeade where she was stationed, Harry up to his room to send Ginny a reply. It was grateful, but short. He was too distressed to write a long letter. Apart from that he didn't know what he would put in it, anyway. Thus when Pigwidgeon soared out of the castle, he carried a note miniature even without a Shrinking Charm.

popopopopo

'You are troubled.'

The darkness in the bedroom was tangible. The curtains around Harry's bed were open, and still he didn't see anything but the slightly brighter square shape of the window. He couldn't sleep. He had tried to just lay with closed eyes, he had tried to form lists of ingredients for concrete potions in his mind - which was the most boring activity he could think of - and finally, realising that he won't be able to sleep, he resolved to just staring into that thick heavy darkness.

The familiar, soundless voice was like a ray of golden light, desperately sought by his soul. The corners of his mouth quirked slightly up, though he was far from feeling happy.

"Yes," he replied, disrupting the seeming homogeneity of the night.

'What is vexing you?' asked the bird, filling the room with a flash as it _Apparated_, for the lack of a better word, somewhere out of the line of Harry's gaze.

He never suspected he might be so glad to be in Fawkes's presence again.

"A lot of things," he said solemnly, sitting up on his bed and stroking the phoenix's long, elegant neck like he used to do years ago. There was something bittersweet in the motion, something that reminded him of things he lost, but which were worth remembering.

'Like?' inquired the bird, shining from the shadows with the colour of hot embers. Then it started singing, very, very quietly, strengthening the peaceful impression of the scene. For a moment Harry considered telling Fawkes what irked him, but then changed his mind and went for the second subject that had been on his mind lately.

"You have been gone for a long time."

The phoenix perched on his thigh and rested its head against his shoulder. Its warm weight distinctly reminded Harry of Ginny.

"I have. I was needed elsewhere and you, my fledgling, have done well on your own. And here I am, because you need me now. So why don't you hasten and tell me what clouds your mind?" Harry softly chuckled and resumed stroking Fawkes's neck. Being referred to as 'fledgling' brought a mixture of pride and discomfort.

"What happened?" he asked quietly. The phoenix took a long time to formulate its answer, as though it was selecting what to divulge and what better keep secret.

'Voldemort returned to Britain, with fresh reinforcements. He didn't need the Malfoys anymore... not with Albus dead, Lucius in prison and both Narcissa and Draco reluctant to obey his orders.'

Harry grimly nodded. He had tried to avoid making guesses about his vision, but it was kind of hard with so little excitement to distract him. Such a turn of events was close to what he had pictured.

"The Prophet wrote that Narcissa is dead."

'Yes, that is true. She was tortured and killed by Tom himself, so it appears. But she, with significant help of yourself and two more members of my Order succeeded in saving her son.'

Harry let out a gasp. So he was right about this, too. Draco was alive. For some reason, not comprehensible to him a bit more than before, he was glad. And he was glad that he could help, too.

'In a way you are a bit like Albus, Harry. He does not look at the history, either, but at the future.'

'I _do_ look at the history. But all I can feel for Malfoy right now is pity. I know it doesn't help him-' Harry defended after receiving a reproachful glance, "I have an idea what is it like to lose parents. I know how it feels when your mother dies to save you. But I can't simply not see that he let Voldemort force him into... Into what he did.'

Fawkes chirped. He agreed with some of Harry's points, but objected against others. Anyway, it was purposeless to argue. He could change the way he talked and slightly alter the way he thought, but he couldn't do anything about his feelings.

"Where is Dumbledore - er, _Professor_ Dumbledore now?"

'If he's not in the Black Library... I'm afraid only he knows.' Yes, that was exactly like the good old Headmaster, from the days when he was alive. Unpredictable and unstoppable, no matter how much of his wits was borrowed from his _familiar_. He had obviously picked up a lot.

"What is he working on?"

'Well, right now he's trying to determine what exactly are we standing against: how many new Death Eaters has Tom recruited, their identities and exceptional skills. It takes a lot of travelling and though he can take shortcuts, his inability to Apparate obstructs him greatly.' Harry took a glance at his new watch - another birthday present. He had yet trouble discerning what all the planets and hands were indicating, but grasped that it was almost two in the morning in the middle of August. Still better than nothing; though why couldn't wizards be satisfied with a simple face remained a mystery to him.

"So, with Dumbledore most of the time gone, who's running the Order?" asked Harry. Then a picture flashed through his mind - weary and distressed Headmistress sitting at the table in her office. "McGonagall?"

Fawkes screeched in protest.

'Poor lass; she has more than enough with the Headmastership as it is. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble it was to persuade Ministry to reopen Hogwarts for the next year? She's done an admirable job.

No, that honour went to William Weasley - a skilful young man that is - and even with having to take care of a wife, he has a plenty of time along his 'desk-job'.'

Harry shook his head in shock.

"I never knew that McGonagall had to do _that_. But you can't blame me - after all it was _you_ who severed almost all my ties to the outside world."

Fawkes apparently didn't like his tone, because the next moment Harry was experiencing the sensation of effects of a Canary Cream. It was irritating, because his feathers were itching where he, in reality, had no feathers at all. He briefly wondered whether the phoenix ever ate a Canary Cream, or simply birds normally felt like that.

"All right, I give in, _winged Master_." Fawkes let out a chirp and released him. But Harry wasn't amused. If truth be told, in his mind he was once again going through the late night conversation. Something, like two pieces of puzzle, begged to be put together. He searched, searched... searched... _Click_.

"It was Snape. Snape was one of the 'two other' Order members you spoke of," he stated in awe. Fawkes didn't deny it.

"Of course, '_last he was seen by Mr Platt in the company of former family friend and a wanted fugitive Severus Snape_'..." Harry wearily rubbed his forehead. A dull headache beset him.

'So that damn bastard _is_ still working for the Order! How could you let him? After all he had done? After he- he- _killed_ Dumbledore?'

Fawkes screeched angrily and dumped several unpleasant sensations on him, but Harry didn't care. He didn't want Snape working for the Order and to Hell with all Dumbledore's _reasoning_! He didn't want to see the man again, he didn't want to be forced to look at that sneer, to be repeated how worthless he was... to be forced to relive the memory from the Astronomy Tower... He wished Snape to go somewhere far, far away or - better - die. Just drop dead. Somewhere in the middle of the street, so he wouldn't have to see him without being allowed to curse him.

Dumbledore was _dead_! And to everyone else it seemed only half-true because of his lingering ghostly presence, but Harry had been there, he had _witnessed_ it. He had heard the Headmaster _plead_ and be cold-bloodedly killed... Maybe he could have believed Dumbledore's far-fetched explanation, but for the look on Snape's face as he did _it_. That expression of revulsion and hatred he had almost forgotten appeared renewed in front of his eyes.

Fawkes squeaked, low, disappointedly. Harry sobbed. He didn't know what it was with him, he cried, yet no tears were coming out. But it wasn't because he was sad. He was _frustrated_, being denied his just revenge...

'Now you're not the least bit like Albus, Harry. I expect you to do your duties tomorrow as always, plus you will have an Occlumency lesson.'

He left and Harry felt so much worse than before. His life, all that he pictured he could finally gain, was crumbling in front of him. He angered Fawkes, and rather badly, so he could count on some nasty chastisement tomorrow. He was prevented from taking revenge on somebody who had hurt him beyond repair.

And worst of all, he wasn't sure _who he was_ anymore.

popopopopo

Harry woke up sore and late. He trudged downstairs, remembering Fawkes's orders, but didn't have a clue how he was going to manage the warm-up, feeling drained before he even started. He must have done it somehow (he supposed that his magic had helped a lot), because some hour later he was trailing back.

His eyes were focused on the ground, they had been ever since he had awaken, which caused that he hardly remembered anything but the green blotch of grass moving under his feet. That was also the reason why he didn't notice the ghost, clambering through the portrait hole, and passed _through_ him. Immediately he started shivering, his magical energy gone as well as physical.

Harry looked up. Dumbledore was staring down at him, twinkle-less, pensive.

"I wanted to speak to you, Harry," he said quietly, in a voice that indicated nothing good. The boy weakly looked at the semitransparent wrinkled face and waited, feeling too numb to form a response.

"I've heard you had a disagreement with Fawkes last night."

Harry cringed, but nodded. Faintly.

"I heard you have somehow noticed that Severus is still working for the Order. I can imagine you don't like the arrangements-"

"You're right. I don't. There are many arrangements lately that I don't like. But I have a duty to do, don't I?" said Harry quietly, though with clearly audible sarcasm. Dumbledore frowned menacingly.

"I offered you understanding and compassion, Harry, but if you are too stubborn to accept- well, have it your way. I do not wish you to question my decisions. I don't feel any need to explain myself to you. And whether you like it or not, Severus will keep working for me.

I love you as my own, but I won't let anyone, not even you destroy what I strove for almost all of my life - and what I _died_ for - because of a petty grudge-" Harry sharply inhaled. This wasn't Dumbledore, was it? He examined the otherwise familiar face, wearing an unfamiliar expression. It was a low blow from the Headmaster, and, moreover, an undeserved one. It wasn't like Harry had gone to him to complain or argue. He didn't request anything, neither further explanation, nor banishing Snape.

He didn't ask for anything. He obeyed every command they gave him. He learned.

And still it wasn't good enough. It was the same as with the Dursleys. It was always going to be as with the Dursleys. Until he died - whether of long age or at Voldemort's hands. Would Dumbledore, the man Harry always looked up to, even glance back and notice?

He felt tears well in his eyes, perhaps those, which so obstinately refused to come last night. He spoke again, quietly, almost whispering.

"A petty grudge, sir? Nothing... Nothing I ever did was good enough for him. I knew it won't be and still I tried; for six long years I've tried to please him... I've even endured the Occlumency lessons... I _tried_... as hard as I could... I've let him sneer at the worst memories of my childhood and he always paid me back in humiliation, deducting house points and giving me detentions…

I didn't do anything to him and he hated me since the first moment I've entered Hogwarts. And then he murders you and I am supposed to smile and say 'Good morning, sir, how did your yesterday's errand go'? Well, I don't think I am quite capable of that.

Sorry for being so weak, Professor."

He said all of it evenly, though he probably didn't have enough energy left for screaming if he tried. There was no need to scream. Dumbledore was mad, anyway.

'How death can change a person...' Harry thought sadly, still staring up at the angry face of man he had come to admire so much. Where had all the geniality gone? All the _manners_?

"Harry, I am dead and tired with your melodramatics. Go to your room and think about it, and when you have come to a conclusion and feel you are able to present it calmly come back. Good day." With those words the ex-Headmaster glided away through a wall. Harry felt soundless, painless tears flowing down his cheeks. Inside he ached.

'...I never imagined this when he said that 'most ghosts are bitter'...'

popopopopo

Don't forget to review, please, please… I need a lot of motivation!


	9. Vivax

A/N:Another chapter. You know what it is I ask of you – the obligatory. Btw, please excuse spelling, my spellchecker obstinately refuses to work.

RRR(rare review responses):

**duj **Of course, you are right. But I suppose you see the situation from Severus' point of view (which Ican understand quite well:). Try to look at it from Harry's: when he looked at Severus for the first time it hurt him. The first Potions, which he went to with anticipation and definitely not biased yet (although he had heard tales from the other students, he wanted to see it for himself before he judged Severus). Also, Harry was quite distressed when he was saying the line you quoted; all the years of 'injustice' from the teacher, topped by the fact that he 'murdered' Dumbledore made him feel like the victim. And, finally, he did try in the Occlumency. He did. Although not nearly as much as he should have.  
Anyway, thanks for your observations.

**logi ** I'm not telling. See next chapters:). Only that when I wrote Severitus, I meant Severitus (btw, greeting and big thank you to Severitus for the idea!).

Chapter 9: Vivax

'Harry. Harry, wake up, please.'

The boy lounging in an armchair jerked and wildly searched around himself. Fawkes was standing on the round table in front of him; his head was strangely hung low, and all in all he emitted an aura of sadness.

And then it all came back. How he angered Fawkes. The way Dumbledore treated him. The throbbing headache and the dull pain somewhere inside him. Disappointment. Fear.

He braced himself for the punishment he knew was going to come. At least it was a deserved one - he had flipped out at the phoenix after it had come to soothe him, to help drive his troubles away.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, though knowing it wouldn't change anything. He had wanted to say it. His voice was hoarse as if he had been screaming, yet he knew he wasn't. Maybe he was getting ill.

'So am I,' replied the phoenix. Harry winced.

'What for?' he asked, evading using the raspy voice he didn't like.

'For Albus, my dear lad. He has a lot on his mind lately and I'm afraid you unknowingly touched a soft spot of his. Merlin knows how many of your soft spots he touched... don't blame him. He had done far more than his share already, and the circumstances won't let him rest in peace.' Harry's stomach rambled, but the mere thought of food seemed revolting to him.

"I cried," he whispered, not knowing why. Maybe just to assure himself that it wasn't only a nightmare, though a nightmare would have been preferable.

'I know, Harry. As I said, I am sorry.'

Harry gazed in the phoenix's eyes.

"Does that mean you're not... Not going to punish me?"

'No. I have had a conversation with your owl, Hegwig. I do not deny that my primary reason had been to find a new and amusing way of making you regret your 'lapse', but it turned out to be a very interesting... debate.'

'You talked about me.' It was a statement. And a pretty obvious conclusion to come to, though Fawkes chose not to point it out.

'We did. I found that, in spite of what I had thought, your 'dislike' of Severus Snape is from your point of view justified. And don't argue with me, please-'

'I wasn't going to,' inserted Harry shyly.

'That I am grateful for. Now, how about we go and find the Headmistress? She had asked to see you.'

That moment Harry's stomach finally turned over and the boy quite unceremoniously half-ran, half-staggered into the bathroom.

A while later he abandoned the random cubicle and went to splash some water on his face. Feeling dizzy, he didn't pay much attention to what he was doing - not until he looked up from the sink and spotted his face in the mirror.

He looked... different. Due to the spinning of his head he couldn't focus on his reflection too much, but what he saw was enough to send him, shocked, back to the cubicle.

'What the Hell is going on with me?'

'By Perch and Corn, Harry, you have fever! Why didn't you tell anyone?'

The boy wiped his mouth and trudged to the basin, where he left the water flowing.

'Whom was I supposed to tell?' he thought matter-of-factly and made a second attempt on washing his face. 'I think I will go to see Pomfrey, rather than McGonagall...'

'Pomfrey is not here,' Fawkes informed, and Harry sensed the concern in the phoenix's mental voice, 'and won't be for the next few days I'm afraid.'

Harry sighed and sat down on the stony floor. It was wonderfully cold. He pressed his forehead against the wall and felt the headache ease off. The part of his mind that was despite his discomfort and internal turmoil still capable of thinking provided him with a way out of the situation that would include neither risking his life, nor humiliating himself.

'Fawkes, I need your help.'

'I see that, Harry,' responded the phoenix, landing on the floor in front of its charge. Harry put his hand on the back of its slender neck.

'Slughorn didn't stay for holidays, did he?'

'He's not here, if that is what you wanted to know,' Fawkes replied, taking a small bird-step closer to Harry's body. The boy smiled.

'Why am I not surprised - just when I would need him... Oh. Can you take me to his lab?'

The phoenix gave him an appraising scrutiny, as if trying to express the students were under no circumstances allowed to enter the place he just requested access to, but didn't 'voice' that opinion. Rather, almost humanly, nodded.

'If you are sure about what you are going to do-'

'I hope I am.'

popopopopo

Leaning heavily against the desk, Harry ran over the list in his mind again.

'Yes, all I need is here. This will be a simple one; first-year could do it.' He sighed, wiped the perspiration from his face and set to work. It was one of Vivax's concoctions, from the very first chapter. He didn't even need the book to brew it; he had it all in his head.

Fawkes refused to leave his side, but to inform the Headmistress about their whereabouts, about which Harry vividly protested and pleaded the phoenix not to tell anyone, so finally they both remained there. The bird watched every movement of the boy, especially when he took a knife to cut a chunk off a root of _Michelia champaca_, as though afraid he might inflict further harm upon himself.

'That first-year wouldn't be so close to fainting,' Fawkes mentioned grimly, but Harry didn't listen. He concentrated on the work. It was hard, harder than he had imagined it to be, mostly because his hands were weak, shaking, and slippery with sweat. Fortunately, the brew was far below the level of difficulty he was used to from the N.E.W.T. class, so he managed somehow. He triple-checked whether he had done everything right.

He had. Anyway, there were no poisonous ingredients and none of their combination could become volatile. The worst possible effect, if he had made really big mistakes in the process (which he didn't), could be small green itching blotches on his skin. Perhaps it was the enchanting way of writing Vivax used, but Harry, to his own amazement, realised he truly understood all the properties and their inter-reaction.

The intense concentration moreover helped to get his mind off the constant burning of his insides. He briefly wondered if Dumbledore had anticipated such occurrence and if it was the reason why had he sent the book to him in the first place. But he wasn't too eager to contemplate about the ex-Headmaster.

The brewing took him less then thirty minutes, and he set out to tidy up and hide the traces of his presence while the potion simmered.

'Just as it would have taken the first-year,' Harry noted with irony, put his (borrowed) cauldron off fire and dipped a ladle in the blue-green liquid.

"Cheers," he said, his voice once again the velvety sound that had baffled him more than a month ago. He refused to think about the fact that this might have been how he was _truly_ supposed to be sounding.

Harry took a sip, not quite self-confident in the situation but hopeful.

'Maybe Slughorn won't find out I have broken into his private quarters. Maybe...' After only a few seconds the potions started working. Harry's stomach gradually unclenched, and his vision cleared, headache almost completely gone within a minute.

"Bless Vivax, whoever the man is," Harry said silkily and shuddered. His very self seemed creepy to him, the voice, the long straight hair that kept falling into his face and obscuring his vision, the long slender fingers... With a masochistic spark he reached into his pocket and retrieved the only remaining (_Reparo_ed) piece of the pair of Sirius' Two-way Mirrors, to look inside it. He wouldn't call for his Godfather, never more... To him it was just a normal mirror now.

It showed a familiar pair of emerald-green eyes under dark, furrowed brows, protruding cheekbones and incomparably older, far less round features.

'Is this me?'

'Of course. Don't worry, though. You'll be healthy and control your morphing in a week or two.'

Harry nodded. Fawkes more or less repeated Tonks's words. But even so, being able to look like he wanted to didn't change the fact that his body once again assumed a different shape when weakened.

The events of the last twenty-four hours reached him; it was too much pressure, and despite the potion he felt a yearning to sleep. He had a lot of studying to do, sure, but even the phoenix placed his health before his tasks.

'Fawkes? Can you take me back to the dorm, please?'

In the matter of minutes he lay in his bed, eyes closed to block out the view of four empty beds and one vacated cage. He was alone, having sent Fawkes to McGonagal with a note to inform her he won't be coming to see her – not before he had sworn the phoenix to keeping its beak shut about any potions or laboratory they might have encountered. He tried not to think but it was hard; eventually the contemplation was driven away by the so much desired sleep.

Still nothing changed the fact that he didn't recognise the stranger in his mirror.

popopopopo

"Harry-"

The boy glanced up from his book and stared at the phoenix.. It looked troubled.

'Are you angry?' the bird asked quietly, even though it was only its mind's voice. Harry gaped. What could have happened?

'Why should I be?'

'Are you angry that we've left you alone? That there was no one to take care of you when you needed it?' Harry shrugged.

'I didn't think of it that way. I made it through quite alright… And I'm used to much worse things – Dumbledore had left me on my own a few times in the past, even when you weren't around to save the day.' He sighed. Such thoughts might have deserved him a disciplinary. Or not. But they were true; this was how he felt.

Fawkes zoomed down from Ron's pillow and perched on Harry's knee, stretched out one grand crimson and gold wing and gently stroked Harry's cheek. It tickled.

'I am proud of you, fledgling.'

Harry's jaw fell. Did Fawkes really say what he heard? And he wasn't the first – Mr Weasley too, the other day! Were they so afraid he was going to die? Or dd they think he was so close to despair that he needed reassuring of their trust and support twice a week?

'Harry, you should have long since learned that when I say something I also mean it.'

'_You_ are proud of _me_?' The phoenix hopped off his leg, closer to his body, and the extended wing moved to half-embrace him.

'Yes. You might have neglected your illness for more than a week, but so did everyone else, including me. And you coped with it better than I – better than anyone – could have expected.' Harry's blood was gradually heating up, though in his current state it was quite welcome. He reached out to stroke the phoenix's long, graceful neck in response.

'Just to make sure you do understand what it means; you are only the seventh of my charges to hear this from me.'

Harry flushed, but more due to the effect of the half-hug than any emotion.

'Did you-' He stopped, reflecting. The phoenix chirped.

'Did I _what_?'

Harry would have sworn it was smiling. He shook his head seriously.

'Nothing.'

'You want to know if I said that to Albus?'

'I don't want to know,' Harry said earnestly. To him that didn't matter. It was strictly between Fawkes and Dumbledore.

'You are too wise for a seventeen-year-old.'

Harry smiled, closed his eyes and lay back, careful not to crush the phoenix's wing in the process. He wouldn't let the compliment come through to him; he wasn't as naïve as to let himself believe it. And this way he wasn't _as_ embarassed. Honestly, to know if Fawkes told Dumbledore he was proud…

Harry shivered. He really didn't want to know.

"There's something else I wanted to discuss with you… well, more like _someone_… Hmm, and maybe there are more…"

The phoenix tweeted and playfully pecked at his wrist.

'I should have known. Very well, young man. As soon as you are fit to face the grim reality I'll take you to Grimmauld Place and you can discuss anyone with Albus.'

Harry scowled. His voice was a raspy version of the velvety sound when he spoke again, though he was sure that otherwise he hadn't morphed.

"I don't want to."

'But that did never stop you, did it?'

He sighed.

"All right. If you wish it so. I can understand that you want the two of us to be on good terms. I just-"

Fawkes started singing a calming tune. I made Harry smile.

"Fine. But will you please be there with me?"

'Of course. I would have been there anyway; Albus is loosing it. He started to underestimate me – I can't have that, now, can I?'

'Unedrestimate! Dumbledore?' That sounded positively weird. But Harry had become used to odd things happening long ago, and from there it was just a small step to become used to the fact that some odd things weren't predictable. After all, Dumbledore was a _ghost_ now and time to time didn't even resemble his former, living self.

'I hope he's enjoying himself.'

'I think Albus has just realised how much different he is from who he used to be; how different his abilities are... and he has trouble coming to terms with the fact that he is never going to be the same.'

"Yeah, I guess I know what that does feel like," Harry grunted, thinking of his recent realisation. He also wasn't going to be the same as before… and just as Dumbledore's, his appearance, too, was a fake.

Fawkes inclined his head to the side, curious.

'Back to the gloomy mood, Harry? Will you at least tell me what troubles you?'

"I'm not sure if I want to talk about it," he mumbled, drawing his blanket over his head to hide from the world.

'Come on, young man. I would spy it out, but you're already too good in Occlumency-'

"I'm _what_!" he cried from the beautifully simple universe below the sheet.

'Too good, sapling - and think before you speak. Severus did a better job with you than you could guess; you needed minimal tuition to get the grip of the art.'

Fawkes's strategy worked perfectly as always. He startled Harry into complete dumbness and before the boy realised what he was doing he had been through half of the story. He could have stopped, but it wouldn't help, because the genius bird had by that time the complete picture.

'So, to put it simply, you are afraid that you are not yourself?' the phoenix asked after he had finished.

"It sounds pretty stupid when you put it like that. I know I am myself – I'm just unsure who is the someone that is me…" He scratched his head. "Well, that doesn't sound much better, does it?"

Fawkes chirped joyfully.

'I think I have the answer for you. You looked so much like James, because you always wanted to – didn't you enjoy hearing how much you resemble him?'

Harry nodded. That made sense. Of course – Tonks had wanted to look like the pretty girl, so she did; he waned to be like his father, so he was. He just wondered how come he didn't think of it himself.

'I'm glad we sorted that out, Harry,' stated the phoenix, 'You need to get as much rest as you can. I've brought you the rest of your potion if you felt sick again. Try to get well quickly.' But Harry didn't like the prospect of lying in the bed alone for the next few days.

"Can't I have some company? I'm sure Ron and Hermione would come over if they had the chance…" And Ginny. Ginny would come over if she managed to sneak out as he knew her…

'I'll see what I can do… but I don't think that you four staying here alone would be a good idea. I somehow cannot imagine you resting with _them_ around.'

Harry stared at him pleadingly.

'I won't let you rot here alone, fledgling,' Fawkes stated consolingly, and with a flashy red and gold explosion vanished.

popopopopo

"_Locomot_-"

"_Protego_!" Harry yelled instinctively, startled from the drowse.

"Bloody Hell, you've got some reflexes!" said a feminine voice filled with open awe.

"And you've got some manners. Cursing an ill sleeping person!" Harry protested when he recgnised the 'attacker'.

"You seem just fine to me." Tonks paced around his bed, ogling him from all angles imaginable. He groaned and thanked providence for having the blanket around him.

"Don't tell Fawkes. He'd chase me out to run laps."

The Auror gave him a knowing wink, accented by a leer.

"So is it! I should have known. Honestly, Harry… But I can't blame you. Urgh, if I had to do physical training… I'd break my leg. Although I'm clumsy enough to break my leg anyway…" She sat down on the edge of his bed. "So, what do you want to do? Two is a bit too few for a decent party…"

"Tonks, I take it you talked with Fawkes-"

"How? He's a bird, isn't he?"

Harry nodded.

"Yes, but a very clever bird."

Tonks raised one violet eyebrow, but didn't question him further.

"No, I got a note from Bill that I should come and nurse you. So, how do you feel?"

"Better than yesterday. There's a cauldron on the desk; could you hand me a glass of the potion?" he asked and, while Tonks busied herself with her back turned to him, cast a quick succession of charms on himself. Friend or not, he didn't feel well dirty, sweaty and stinking in the presence of a woman. Apart from Hermione, of course, but Mione wasn't a 'woman'. Mione was Mione.

"Thanks," he said, taking the glass of green-blue liquid from her.

"Looks gross," she declared, screwing her nose.

"It's actually quite good," Harry objected. At least he did like the flavour. "One more, please."

Tonks obviously thought him to be crazy, but complied nonetheless.

"Thanks," he muttered again. That stuff was really tasty.

'Bless Vivax, whoever the man is,' Harry thought repeatedly. Maybe it was the potion working; he suddenly didn't feel a bit inclined to spending the day in bed.

"What would you say about a small DADA session? You could teach me some handy Auror tricks," he suggested. Tonks was virtually jumping with eagerness…


	10. Felix

A/N: Sorry for keeping you waiting so long! Though as I know myself, I'm gonna repeat this… can't stick with only one story too long… got to do a few at time and the inspiration comes randomly…  
I think I actually like this chapter – the dialogue, the characters and the way a lot is hinted but nothing too explicit… Should've stopped bragging a line above… Enjoy and review.  
Brynn

Chapter 10: Felix

Tonks was a great teacher. She was patient, saw the mistakes he was making, and didn't mind showing him repeatedly how it was supposed to be done...

'Wait, what was that thought?' Harry stared at the young woman in front of him as though he was seeing her for the first time. 'Yes. That might work.' Meanwhile she noticed that he was scrutinising her, head to toes to head...

'Better than if Hogwarts were to see the fifth Death Eater Professor.'

She gaped back.

"Tonks, how would you like being a teacher?" he asked. Her jaw fell. Then she unfroze and burst in laughter.

"Teacher? I? Oh no, no, Harry..." she couldn't stop laughing. Apparetnly she thought he was making fun of her.

He gave her the most earnest look he could muster while she was holding her belly and shaking so mightily that the armchair she sat in copied those movements.

"I mean it. You're great. Wouldn't you-"

"No. No way. Look, Harry, I am not good at keeping control over anything but my morphing. There's no way I could manage a class. And, anyway, for an Auror I am lousy in the finer parts of Defence-"

"I didn't mean DADA," Harry interrupted agitatedly. "I meant Transfiguration."

Tonks went back to gaping at him, addle-brained. For a while it almost seemed as though she considered the idea.

"Theoretically. It might be fun... But there's McGonagall, isn't she? You're far better off with her." She put her feet on the table to demonstrate just how childish and unfit for a person of authority she was and nibbled on the tip of a Liquorice Wand.

"No, she's not. Doesn't have time with all Head's duties. And she can't find anyone."

The hand in which Tonks held the fake wand dropped and Harry had a particularly disgusting view of what it looked like half-chewed. Fortunately the woman remembered to close her mouth in the span of few seconds.

"You're not implying-"

Harry snickered. He feebly reminded himself of Dumbledore. But whatever, if Hogwarts had to choose between a Ministry bugbear and a skillful, though eccentric young Auror, she wouldn't hesitate before picking the latter.

"You bet I am."

"No," she refused flatly. But Harry wouldn't give up so easily, not when she already admitted that she might appreciate the chance.

"We need you, Tonks. Hogwarts needs you."

She glared at him, furiously biting on the unsuspecting sweet stick.

"Who are you? McGonagall's personal agitator?"

"And if I am?" He raised his eyebrows. Tonks resumed gaping.

"I- You- "

"Think about it, please. They will try to get us a _clerk_, and that only in the case no Death Eater would want the job."

She sighed and shook her head.

"No, Harry. I am an Auror."

"Please. Think about it."

popopopopo

Tonks indeed had her job and thus was forced to leave soon thereafter. However, Harry didn't have time to sulk about being left alone again, because he fell asleep almost immediately. He was still ill, his body weakened and, even if he didn't feel it while having fun, all the exertion took its toll.

Days came and went.

The next morning Harry woke up feeling considerably better, though still not fit. Fawkes had 'left him to rest' and Harry spent a mildly enjoyable time reading.

He missed company. He was getting spoilt.

Finally, the morning after the evening when Harry started thinking he would remain there sole until the start of term because everybody had forgotten about him, he woke up to a shrill screech. Quite unexpectedly, his face lit up with smile.

'Morning, Your Featherness – no drills! I hate drills! _Ouch_!'

Fawkes drove Harry out of the bed, out of the room and out of the castle, while the boy complained about dentists' cruelty. He had never suffered the touch of a burr-drill and the phoenix obviously thought it was a good experience for life.

'How does a _bird_ know what _that_ feels like?' Harry wondered, but shielded those thoughts from Fawkes, because drill was even worse than toddy. The warm-up seemed somewhat longer to him that day as his body weaned for physical training. But he endured it as he always did; it was nowhere near the pain of exercise when he had started.

Trudging back to the gate, with Fawkes soaring not so far away, Harry brought up the subject his mind had dwelled on for the long days of solitude.

'You had promised to accompany me to Grimmauld Place-'

'Did you change your mind?' the phoenix asked surprised. It proved the statement about Harry's advance in Occlumency right.

'Of course not. I'd like to press it – see, I'm healthy now. If prepared to face the reality I don't know, but I wasn't a bit more prepared in the past so let's get on with it if you ask me…'

Fawkes's mind voice laughed in Harry's head. It was a nice laughter, rich and merry.

'_This_ wish of yours is my command, Mr Potter. Contact me as soon as you make yourself presentable.'

Harry replied with a mocking bow to the phoenix and escaped before it decided he could use more drills.

popopopopo

"Why here? Why not straight to the Library?" Harry asked, frowning, when his feet hit the floor of the Hall. He had to go all the way up the stairs now…

'Because Albus is somewhat busy at the moment. I suggest you go and cherish the company of your friends for a while… I'll call for you.'

In the following silence, Harry looked around. The place had changed again. Torch-holders and lanterns were installed instead of candlesticks, though those weren't removed yet. He made a mental note to inform Bill, or whoever else was responsible for the reconstruction, to keep them where they were. After all, it was his house.

He cracked his fingers and smirked. All the candles in the hallway lit up and he felt a jolt of childish jolliness. Why such a thing seemed so funny to him remained a mystery, but it was one of his _smaller_ oddities. At least he didn't carry about a blue fire in a jar.

"You?"

Harry sharply turned around and faced the wall that once used to be occupied by Mrs Black's portrait. Nigellus stood there, glaring at him from the painting with the broomstick. For one short moment of shock Harry thought it was a portrait of the man and wondered who in their right mind would hang it there. It wasn't much improvement compared to the previous one… but then his mind switched on and he noticed how different Nigellus's colours were, that he didn't fit into the slightly too-large surroundings and, honestly, you couldn't fly well in such attire…

"I thought that Andromeda's bastard was bad enough to put up with, but to have you around…" grunted the two-dimensional man and ran a hand through his hair melodramatically. "I'd retire, but… wait, I already _have_ retired!"

"Can I help you?" Harry asked politely, but coldly.

"Why would you?" barked Nigellus and walked out of the picture, briefly flashing in the panorama above the portal.

"Indeed, why," Harry muttered and glared after the man. "Are all Slytherins such gits?"

"You can bet," said a voice from the landing above the first flight of stairs. Ron looked around, checking if anybody was watching and after confirming that the air was clear, he sat on the railing and slid down. He obviously tried to jump off spectacularly, but it somehow didn't work and the redhead found himself face in the carpet. Harry took pity of him and helped him up.

"Hullo, mate. Haven't seen you in a long time."

"It wasn't so long… Seems that you're bored," said Harry. If it was so bad that Ron started developing style in sliding down a railing, he was being kept much too short.

"Yeah. Say that aloud. Scream it. But I'm afraid nothing happens anyway… At least it didn't work for me." The redhead sighed and slumped down on the second lowest stair. "Hardly anything moves here. People are Apparating straight into the third floor and we are practically forbidden to go there. I hardly ever see anyone these days. I tried to go to the girls room, but Hermione put some charm on it and you know her charms…"

Harry nodded.

"Yeah. I wouldn't risk breaking one of those."

Ron shivered.

"Exactly. Well, Ginny wasn't in the lab, cause there was Mione and she threw a pencil at me when I disturbed her… She is mad about not having access to the Black Library; Dumbledore has virtually booked it."

'You can _book_ a Library?'

"There's no one else here?"

"No. Just Bill, and he's up. I…" He hushed. Harry gave him a quizzical stare and eventually Ron decided to speak, pushing off the stair and leading the way to his bedroom.

"I think that I saw somebody yesterday. Somebody who shouldn't have been here, I mean."

"Who?" Harry inquired, though sceptical. He would sooner believe that Ron was being paranoid than that the Death Eaters (the Ministry not to speak about) would be able to infiltrate the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Dunno. I've never met her before. That's why… Don't look at me like that. I'm not crazy." Ron was frowning at him. Harry smiled apologetically.

"Sorry."

The scowl didn't change.

"You've said weirder things and they were true," Ron muttered grumpily.

"I suppose… Look, don't worry. I'll ask Dumbledore; I'm just stopping by on the way to him." But it seemed that even that information wasn't enough to console his friend.

"Yeah. Should have known you wouldn't come just to see us. It's always Dumbledore this, Dumbledore that-"

Harry sighed heavily. Ron was being so annoying that he felt like telling him to go to his room and think and come back when he was calm enough to present his conclusions, but he wasn't such a bastard as to tell his friend something like that. He rather shook his head and quietly spoke.

"Do you really think I wouldn't like to spend the holidays with you here? I'm glad that I can be here for this short while, not secluded in a deserted castle. If it means I have to go and see Dumbledore…" He gulped. As the meeting neared he was becoming nervous. He wished he could hide and not have to face the ghost again; he wasn't sure what to tell to him, how to act. Sure, he could pretend that nothing happened, but that would mean not being true to himself and… was it worth it?

'It is. After all, McGonagall tried to explain that to me repeatedly. Alright. I can keep my mouth shut and my head down… For twenty minutes. Hopefully.'

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, seeing his expression "I guess you have it worse." He halted abruptly and Harry amost bumped into him.

Coming to meet them was Ginny, grim-looking and staring at her watch. She wore a strange robe – black, embroidered with white thread. There were no actual pictures, but the lines somehow attracted attention…

"Harry! You're here! Perfect!" She glanced at her watch one more time and then up at the two boys. "Meet me in the lab in… ninety seconds." She added to her pace and stormed past Ron and Harry, aiming downstairs. Her brother laughed shortly.

"I mean it!" Ginny yelled in a voice that didn't permit disobedience. Harry felt that something was going on, something important, and it would be better for everyone if they _were_ in the laboratory in ninety seconds.

He glanced at Ron and nodded, turned about and ran after the girl, who meanwhile disappeared out of sight. Dumbledore would have to wait, but he didn't seem to find it in himself to feel bad about it. It meant that he had a longer time until having to meet him. Ron landed next to him in a squat, having gained speed by sliding down instead of running.

"What do you think-"

"I have no idea," Harry replied truthfully.

popopopopo

The door slammed shut behind him, seemingly by itself, and Harry found himself standing in a small circle consisting of himself, Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Crookshanks. The room sinisterly resembled Hogwarts' dungeons, particularly the Potions classroom. It was furred by tiles of grey stone and apart from inbuilt cabinetes featured two wall-to-wall desks, a sink, and a chandalier.

A perfect place for a secret meeting.

"So why are-" Ron started, but Ginny cut in.

"Not yet." She kept staring at the watch and her lips moved a bit as she soundlessly counted. "Fifty-nine, sixty – now." She looked up. Hermione checked the lock and nodded in confirmation.

"So why-" Ron attempted to start again, much with the same result.

"We have privacy for seven minutes. From everyone-" she added in Harry's direction. He raised an eyebrow but she just waved her hand as though trying to say he should stop being a jerk and try to understand, so she won't have to explain everything. With a rather great but well-masked shock he realised she knew about Fawkes, about the way the phoenix could look into people's minds and probably about the way it kept and eye on him, too. And she didn't want to consult it in front of the other three. He would very much like to talk it over, but it could wait. At least until they were out of that room.

"I have a few messages from Bill. First, don't attack anyone in this house. That is important."

"Like who?" Ron asked daftly. Harry suppressed a sigh – if it wasn't Ron, who had seen some stranger and freaked out, it would be comprehensible, but this was a bit too unobservant. Since the boy fell in love he had forgotten how to think.

"Like Snape," Hermione suggested, "he must have found out we know about him."

"I'd say Dumbledore had told him," Harry said, choosing not to explain how did _the ghost_ found out. Before anybody had inquired, Ginny corrected Hermione's presumption.

"Of course he does know, but it's not only Snape. It is _anyone_, no matter if you know that person or not-"

Ron finally caught on.

"I saw somebody yesterday-"

Ginny paled.

"Don't tell me you hurt her-"

"Whom?" Hermione cut in.

"Tonks."

"Tonks is here?" asked several voices at once. There was a relative silence when Ginny sighed and leant back against one of the desk. Very slowly, to indicate how patient she was being she spoke.

"Yes, Tonks _is_ here."

Hermione and Ron gaped at her, probably wondering why didn't they know, why did the woman disguise herself, why was she staying out of sight…

"What happened?" Harry asked quietly, receiving looks just as pzzled as those Ginny did a while ago. He had talked to the young Auror just few days prior and she didn't indicate anything was wrong.

"She gave notice."

"What? Why?" Hermione asked for all of them.

"The Ministry is doing some nasty repercussions against werevolves. It's been Scrimegour's idea; I think it's supposed to be some sort of revenge. They must have found out about Greyback in Hogwarts and put together with the attacks before..."

Harry had a nasty feeling he knew where she was aiming.

"And Scrimegour claims all werevolves are evil. He'll stand them in a line and shoot them," he said grimly.

"That's a bit stretched-" Hermione protested, despite her undeniable intelligence still naïve enough to believe in the good intentions of authorities. Harry had long since passed that stage.

"No, it's accurate," Ginny opposed. Her eyes blazed with hatred. Obviously she shared Harry's opinion.

"Yeah, I think I can picture him doing it. But I meant it metaphorically. So what- Aha." It was suddenly too clear to him. His insides burnt with anger and loathing and he felt just like Ginny had at that moment.

"Bastard," he muttered. Ginny grievously nodded. Hermione kept glancing between them nervously and quietly, as though afraid not to provoke either of the seething pair, moved to the far side of the desk. She stirred a jar of gold liquid standing there, three times clockwise. The brew let out a _purr_ and she beamed at it, before returning back to the group.

"So when they ordered her to arrest Remus - you can imagine. She broke some Ministry property and then flatly refused," Ginny continued with a strange contempt in her voice.

"They threatened to chuck her," inserted Ron, who, once he kicked his internal mechanics on _had_ the capability to come to some clever conclusions. The difference between that and his usual slow perception kept baffling Harry ever since he knew the boy.

"So she gave notice. On the spot," Ginny completed. Harry shook his head in disbelief. Scrimegour had proven himself to be slimy cold heartless git before, but he would never have expected the ex-Auror to sink so low. His meaning of all Aurors had been so high; they were brave, courageous fighters for the Light... weren't they?

Suddenly he felt that his career needed reappraising. He didn't want to be an Auror if it meant he would have to obey orders of someone like Scrimegour.

"Kingsley is, fortunately, working with Muggles, so he doesn't have to take part in that... It's horrible..." Ginny muttered under her breath. Harry agreed.

"He's vile. Reminds me of Crouch, but I think Scrimegour is yet worse."

She glanced at him questioningly, but Ron and Hermione thoughtlessly nodded, most likely not having listened to him.

"Why is she hiding from us?" Ron asked, attracting his sister's attention.

"She's hiding from other people that might come here."

"Other people like who?"

Ginny scowled.

"Use your head. If you can't figure it out on your own then you don't need to know." However, it wasn't clear to Harry either. Was Tonks hiding from the Ministry wizards? Some of them were members of the Order, but they put the good cause first, even before law. And he was sure nobody there really liked Scrimegour. They just _pretended_ to, to avoid suspicion… Or did she want to protect them, in the case they were questioned?

It didn't make sense. Unless…

He looked up at her. She nodded.

"I should have known _he_ wouldn't just disappear," Harry muttered with annoyance, "it would make my life too good. Is _he_ coming often?"

Ron was for once able to keep up and looked over at Ginny for the response. The girl nodded, her eyes looking at him sadly. He despised Snape, but even so didn't think his pure existence was a reason to cry… Although, maybe it was.

"But never stays more than few minutes. I guess _he_'s afraid they might track him."

"Who are you talking about?" Hermione asked daftly, obviously at a nonplus.

"We don't really know much about the way the Dark Mark works," Ginny continued ignoring the question, eliciting a gasp of comprehension from the other girl. It was rare to see Hermione being the last to understand something, but Harry noticed that her mind was on something else now, preventing her from fully concentrating at the conversation. She occasionally glanced to the back of the room to check at the jar with the gold liquid.

"-but obviously it isn't strong enough to overcome the Fidelius Charm."

"Who's the Secret Keeper now?" Harry asked. Ginny gave a small smile.

"How am I supposed to know that? It seems that no one but Dumbledore and his _confidante_ knows. But somehow he managed to hand over the Keepership without having to re-inform all members about the address."

"That's a feat!" Ron whistled with an expression of reverence. Both Ginny and Harry agreed. Hermione was once again next to the jar, taking care of the purring potion in it.

"Back to the point – don't hurt Tonks, whatever shape she takes on. I'll try to make her come to us; she could morph into mum or Fred or George… even if _he_ saw her he wouldn't know…"

But this time Harry didn't agree.

"She knows what is she doing. I suppose F- Dumbledore told her to keep away from the part of house _he_ is visiting. _He_'s a strong Legilimens."

She ingested that bit of information and sighed wearily.

"Then I guess that plan wouldn't work… So I'll have to do it the harder way and go to her."

"Or she could come to Hogwarts. Why didn't she come there? It's one place you can be sure _he won't_ turn up. She could keep me company-"

"Because the Ministry will look there as one of the first places," Ron said.

"Then she could pretend to be you-"

"The Ministry has Legilimenses too. And Veritaserum," Ron objected. Harry sighed. Yes, hiding from one person was easier than hiding from a squad of Aurors who knew you for years and could anticipate the way you were thinking…

"Let's leave that decision to Bill," Ginny closed the matter. Glancing at her watch she confirmed that their seven minutes were almost over.

"Anyway, why are they looking for her?" Harry wondered. Surely just giving notice wasn't a crime…

"I understood that the _property_ she broke was expensive and important. Apart from being demaned to pay for it _someone_ suggested she might have tried to sabotage the investigation-" "Merlin!" Ron inserted, suddenly sickly pale.

"-and you know how the Ministry treats even unlikely suspects these days."

"Chucks them into Azkaban," Ron answered unnecessarily.

"She'd need a new identity – she can't go out while she is wanted without one. And Dumbledore can't let her rot here like he did it to Sirius," Harry growled, inserting all his current feelings towards the ex-Headmaster into the sentence. He felt his body pulling at itself, wanting to morph as he was getting angry. However, when conscious of it, Harry could quite well prevent it from doing so.

'So this is what Tonks talked about – that I'll have a better control over it once the effect of the initial shock from the 'substance' wears off…' It was one of many things she had explained to him during their scarce sessions.

"Yeah," Ron confirmed.

"Don't _you_ worry. Bill's got everything in his grip and I promise you that Tonks will be alright," Ginny assured them. Maybe it was just his impression, but Harry had the feeling he was the only one who thought that she didn't have the power to keep such promise. But, maybe Bill did have. And he was convinced that, in the end, Tonks was quite capable of managing on her own.

"What _you_ should worry about is the school – Harry, _Dumbledore_ wants to talk to you about this matter, so you can go if you want to. The rest of this is only for Ron and Hermione-"

For a split-second Harry's eyes swayed to Mione in the back of the room – she turned to him sharply and her elbow impacted with the jar, sending it to the floor. More out of instinct that thinking he had a chance to catch it he leapt forward-

Startled by hearing him approaching Hermione sharply turned to him and her elbow impacted with the jar, sending it to the floor. In Harry's extended hands.

He caught it, eyes wide with shock. Slowly, as though to ensure _he_ wouldn't destroy anything, Harry stood up and put the glass jar on the desk.

"Thanks," Hermione said, the relief flooding over her after she realised that her prized concoction wasn't spilled. The gold liquid bubbled amusedly.

"What was that?" Ginny asked, eyes narrowed in slits, piercing him with suspicious gaze.

"I saw it falling," Harry mumbled, feigning indifference. He wasn't sure what just happened. "I guess I'll be going then…"

"Oh no, wait," Hermione called and pulled a carton box out of a drawer. "It's done. Give me a minute-" She begun waving her wand over the box and the jar in a complex pattern. The gold liquid started swirling around, as though an invisible hand with an invisible ladle was stirring it. In very thin, almost invisible streams it begun to abandon the glass, aiming into the box. It took more than the requested one minute but eventually Hermione let her wand drop and wiped the sweat off her forehead.

"Done. Take these." She passed him a smaller box, filled with tiny golden oval objects.

"What is it?"

"Capsules of Felix Felicis. According to my calculation one should last about five minutes. In the case you… will be gone away once the term starts."

Harry gaped at the box. That was… unexpected. He glanced up at her.

"How did you think about _this_?"

"Actually, you gave me that idea. When you left the rest of your vial to us in June and… You know, we all came out unharmed. We want _you_ to get out unharmed. So…" She shrugged.

"Thanks." He turned about and walked over to the exit, when he caught Ginny's glance. She smiled knowingly; it made her look much older than she really was. Unhealthy sort of older.

"Thanks," Harry said again, realising whose idea the potion was, and, finally, left his friends to find out what the near future was going to bring for him.


	11. Albus Dumbledore

A/N: Hello! Phoenix's Order is back and edited and **better!** This time it should actually be readable, I got rid of those awkward formulations and hopefully you'll find it worth the bother.  
Thank you all and everyone who reviewed! I cherish it, even a single line makes me feel appreciated. I know it took a long, long time, but I like this story too much to abandon it. So, please, review again, I really am sweating blood…  
Brynn

Chapter 11: Albus Dumbledore

Harry slowly paced up from the dungeon, so lost in thoughts about Hermione and Ron, Ginny, her idea of Felix Felicis and, surprisingly, Vivax (who wrote a chapter dedicated to the effects, use and misuse of the potion), that he forgot to dread any coming confrontation.

So it came unsuspected – through the corner of his eye he noticed a shadow moving in the dim, flickering candlelight. Reflexively, his left hand – the one he didn't hold a box in – flew to his pocket to retrieve the wand.

"I have an offer for you, Mr Potter," sounded a voice he knew, but rarely heard speaking politely.

"And that would be, Mr Nigellus?" he responded in fashion, yet cautiously. The man's black eye appeared in a framed bookplate, giving Harry a direction to stare in.

"Not here. Tonight, in the trophy room."

And he was gone. Harry raised an eyebrow, trudging up the stairs to the first floor, where he hesitated. Fawkes didn't call him yet. But maybe he couldn't; Ginny hinted that whatever it was she did cut Legilimentic connections to anyone in the laboratory.

He pocketed the capsules and decided to go and at least knock on the door to find out if Dumbledore was free for a short chat with him… He screwed his face at the thought as though Fawkes made him taste lemon. Which he could await soon, but he couldn't care less.

Approaching the heavy oak door he heard voices.

'They could have at least put up a Silencing Charm,' he thought and went a step away, when the _beings_ in the closed room spoke again.

"Not here, Dumbledore. One of the Gryffindor brats you are housing already eavesdropped it! The house-rivalry here is the only reason the... boy doesn't know yet."

It was Snape's voice. Harry stopped, amazed by himself, to hear more. He hated the man with all of his heart, but both Fawkes and Dumbledore trusted him… It was enough to make him a fascinating subject, in a deranged way.

"You will have to tell him eventually-"

"No. I won't have to. And I won't."

"He will notice in the end, Severus. He isn't stupid."

He heard Snape snort. Whoever were they talking about (Grimmauld Place was full of 'boys', and Snape obviously used the term loosely), the Potion master didn't think of him highly.

"He is not. After all, he didn't have anyone to inherit such demerit from."

Was Dumbledore's voice tinged with malice? Harry had become quite skilled in distinguishing emotions, but this didn't particularly suit the ex-Headmaster. Although… the ghost he remembered from the last Friday it _did_ suit.

"You surely don't consider-" Snape wanted to argue, but shut up suddenly. Harry subconsciously held his breath. There was a loud crash in the room as something fragile broke. The next moment the door to the Black Library flew open and a seething black blur, which could only be Snape, virtually shot out of it.

Before he could think, just to avoid a face-to-face meeting, which he knew he wouldn't be able to withstand, Harry Apparated to Ron's bedroom. It was pitch black and he could smell old socks; somehow he didn't feel like lighting up. He waited. There was a short pause when Snape stopped; it was on the same floor where Harry was hiding and for a short moment of irrational fright he thought that the man knew he had listened. Then the stomps resumed and thumping downstairs faded.

Harry Apparated back to his previous position, drawing long, refreshing breaths.

"So? Have you tamed him yet?" Dumbledore asked with disgust in his voice. Harry frowned; his mind was finally prepared to admit that the Headmaster was a different person than who he used to see. It hurt but he would stand it and learn to deal with the new, ghostly self.

"He's not like you Albus."

Harry's jaw fell – it was Ginny! Ginny was responding to Dumbledore, though, obviously, she was only passing Fawkes's thoughts. So that was how she knew about he phoenix's true self… But how did she hear its mind's voice? As far as Harry knew, the current charge was the only one able to hear it…

Ginny continued.

"I won't be taming him. He doesn't need that – he's obedient but not stupid and I can let him think for himself without risking a homicide. To tell the truth, I don't remember meeting a person with considerable skills and such stronge sense for 'doing good'."

Harry shivered. It was positively weird, even frightening, to hear Ginny talk this way. Te fact that she was acting like this towards Dumbledore, who used to be a person of the greatest authority imaginable, didn't make it a bit better.

"For example, now he stands behind a door and eavesdrops – and he feels ashamed and guilty. Have _you_ ever felt guilty?"

Harry almost gave up and left, then he thought it would be fair to go inside and apologise and in the end he didn't move at all, because he realised that Fawkes didn't specify 'the door' and he wouldn't have done that without purpose.

"Of course I have. Often," Dumbledore added, but somehow it sounded as though he didn't really care. For some reason it offended Harry, but he decided it wasn't important. He had to persuade himself that he believed it, but eventually managed.

"Certainly not about eavesdropping," Ginny said and sniffed indignantly. It was amazing how a creature that wasn't physically disposed to make such sound was able to elicit it from somebody who only chanelled its thoughts.

"Well, I haven't, that is true," the ghost admitted.

"Albus, Albus… What have you done to the boy?" Ginny asked. Harry had mixed feelings about that – he was both glad and disappointed that he didn't see that. Ginny berating Dumbledore! He always knew that girl was special…

"I've sent him to his Muggle relatives. He had had it hard, but he also evaded the Middle Age thinking of the wizarding society while forming his personality. He learnt many important things he otherwise wouldn't know."

'This is how Dumbledore describes living with the Dursleys? I would wish _him_ to spend some time with them; maybe he, too, would learn some important things…'

From the coldness in Ginny's voice he could tell Fawkes was really mad.

"Just once I let you out of my reach and you-"

"Do something you don't like? Just don't pretend you are surprised."

"You have no idea what he went through. What angers me most is that _if_ you knew, you wouldn't have cared. Honestly, Albus, if you weren't dead, I would show you."

popopopopo

'Come in, Harry,' calmly said Fawkes's voice in his head.

'Does it mean I won't be disciplined for eavesdropping?' he asked hopefully. Unless the phoenix was a hypocrite he shouldn't have been. However, after the bitter experience with misjudging Dumbledore he wasn't so sure about almost anybody's character.

'Of course you won't. Unless you have been previously asked to _not_ do so, which you in this case weren't. And don't hesitate before doing it again; it's one of the things that could save your life.'

He nodded and pushed the heavy door open.

Dumbledore was hovering in front of the shelf labelled _Poisons and Antidotes_, smiling at him, the familiar twinkle in his eyes. Harry looked away from him; that twinkle was something he didn't trust anymore. It was there to make him feel safe, relax and cauterise his vigilance.

Ginny was sitting in a blue plush armchair that contrasted sharply with the rest of the interior, still wearing the same rich-looking robe. Her hair was now pulled back in two braids, though, unlike on the old photograph, she didn't sport any ribbons.

"Hello, Harry," she said with a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

"Hello. Long time no see," he said with irony.

"Indeed," she admitted, smiling mysteriously.

'Why her? Couldn't you find someone better to make your puppet? I split up with her to ensure her safety and you just drag her-'

'No,' Fawkes responded, not at all impressed by Harry's accusation, though not enough annoyed yet to think up a disciplinary.

'Sorry?'

'No. I couldn't find anyone better. She is absolutely ideal. In many ways. If I was a human-' The phoenix met with a mental image of a dressed chicken hanging upside-down above a pot with boiling water.

'You wouldn't-'

But Harry's resolution was firm. If Fawkes hurt Ginny in any way, he would become a soup. And the same fate would await him if he tried to lure her away from Harry.

"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore spoke for the first time and he virtually radiated geniality. The boy felt goose-bumps springing on his skin, but wouldn't let the ghost know. He feigned a deeply interested expression.

"Good morning, sir. Give me a minute, please." And he turned back to Fawkes.

'Nice acting, fledgling, but I would distinctly prefer if you at least tried to get on with the 'new Albus'.'

He shook his head.

'Don't change the subject. This is important to me. Why Ginny?'

A pair of brown eyes watched him as he stood facing the bird, as though knowing they were speaking about her.

'This might sound cruel. I don't like telling you, but I have promised not to keep information from you. Just don't pluck me.'

'The conditions stand. You hurt Ginny, I hurt you.'

Fawkes leapt off his perch and glided down on Ginny's lap. The girl giggled and put her arms around the phoenix, disregarding the scowl Harry was giving it. Not that he was jealous. No.

'I see that knights didn't die out. Very well, young man, you shall have your answers now that I am safe from your wrath. Miss Weasley is good in listening and has a sharp mind – a mind that had been repeatedly broken into and taken over in the past. It made it easier for _anybody_ to control Miss Weasley now.'

Harry once again felt the pull of his body wanting to morph as his temper rose. He considered letting it, just to make an effect, but then thought it might make him seem unable to control and that would be contraproductive at the moment.

"So you _control her_, do you," he drawled dangerously, letting his vocal chords become what they so desperately yearned to be.

'No, don't get me wrong.'

"I am doing this willingly," Ginny spoke and smiled at both of them – the phoenix and the boy. "Harry, you know that I can't just sit home and do nothing while you are out somewhere, training, or risking your life… I had to at least _feel_ like I am doing something. And being Fawkes's translator is one of those things that won't get me in danger, but still make me a part of the fight…"

He sighed. What she said had a point and he was glad that she had found something to do that wouldn't get her injured, but having her mind invaded just because it was easy to do so-

"Look, Harry, I knew what I was getting myself into from the beginning. In fact it was me who came with the suggestion, neither Fawkes nor Professor Dubledore asked me. So don't be mad."

He sighed again, sitting down on the arm of her chair.

'Is she… 'in trance' or does she also listen?'

"I know everything that is going on while talking for Fawkes, Harry. He offered to make me not percieve, but-"

"You wouldn't have it," he inserted. Of course. He wouldn't expect anything else from her, yet that didn't mean he agreed with it. He was careful to shield the next thought from her.

'She is too young for this. You're making her indirectly witness the worst that is happening in the country and-'

'Her mind is not a bit younger than yours, Harry. And you know of those things, too. Mostly.'

'Yeah, when I'm part of them.' He gave up. It had been a fight against windmills and now he realised it. He had no right to forbid Ginny voicing Fawkes's thoughts and he wouldn't even try it; his respect for her prevented him from attempting to not let her decide for herself. And he was rather if she stayed in Grimmauld Place than if she were to do something outside.

"If he's obnoxious, don't hesitate to call for me," he said under his breath.

"What do you think you could do?" she asked with an amused smile. Obviously, she had come to truly know the phoenix.

"We'll see," he replied mysteriously, making both Ginny and Fawkes burst in laughter, while feeling a wave of coldness from behind him; from the place where Dumbledore resided.

'Thank you, Ginevra. I will call if we need you again,' the phoenix acknowledged and lifted itself from her knee. She stood up, mockingly curtsied to the bird, nodded to Dumbledore and quickly hugged Harry, before leaving the room.

As soon as the door was shut there was a change in the amosphere.

"So, Harry, do I have your attention now?" Dumbedore asked as genially as ever. The insincerity made the boy almost physically sick. Fawkes gave him a worried look, but, thanks to the phoenix's coaching, Harry managed to mask those feelings.

"Of course, sir."

"I see that you have thought about what I have told you. Do you think we can talk calmly about it now?" Dumbledore's smile screamed 'I know something you don't and it makes me feel superior'. Harry smiled back, although it wasn't easy.

"Certainly, sir."

"Outstanding! I remember we were talking about Severus… I do not doubt that you still refuse to colleague with him. Can you tell me the reason?" Harry's face remained impassive while he thought of the long list of reasons. Fawkes moved closer to him to help him keep his cool and not enrage Dumbledore again. After a while he found something that sounded usably.

"I don't trust him, sir. He never gave me a reason to."

"Harry, do you trust _me_?"

There was a while of silence. In the past, he would have answered instantly, without hesitation, it would be a clear 'yes'. But this being... 'this Dumbledore' was different from the Dumbledore he used to know. And though Harry understood the reasons, his mind wasn't able to merge the two personalities. He was likely the only one with this problem, but maybe it served to his benefit - he wouldn't expect the ghost to respond like the man would have responded.

The ex-Headmaster gasped with realisation and levelled his sorrowful gaze at Harry.

"I see," he said quietly. He was disappointed and perhaps desperate... after the 'Dumbledore's man through and through' confession such reaction was understandable.

"Very well, Harry. Then I shall persuade you."

Fawkes screeched and glared at the ghost.

'Tell him that won't be necessary.'

He took a deep breath. It wasn't as if Dumbledore could hurt him. Much.

"Fawkes says that it will not be necessary, sir." He waited anxiously for the response. The ghost looked at him, at Fawkes, at him again, and finally glided over to an open tome on a faldstool.

"But I think it is. It so happened that a long time ago, a boy that had not been brought up as you were, didn't understand the differences between good and evil as you do, a boy who had no friends and no one to look after him said 'yes' to the only people who seemed to be interested in him. I suppose you can understand such action?" Harry bethought it and found that he _didn't_ understand, so he chose not to respond.

"Well, it took some time, but eventually, seeing the ends of his actions, he realised it was a wrong decision. Unluckily, it was not reversible." Dumbledore sighed. Somehow it did sound genuinely this time. Harry looked quizzically at Fawkes.

'This is a difficult question, fledgling. Try to look at it like this: Albus explained a lot of things about Tom Riddle to you last year. As a personalities, they two were very akin; Albus also didn't make friends. He's a loner, 'a single-player' if you like. He didn't allow himself the luxury to care for another human being, not to speak about love… That is something most powerful wizards have common.' The thought of Ginny crossed Harry's mind – he didn't allow himself the luxury of being with her… To protect her, yes, but nevertheless…

'How does Snape fit into this?'

'Severus is an error in Albus's otherwise perfect emotionlessness. Neither of them ever understood how did it happen, but Albus actually _developed feelings_. When he realised the mistake it was already too late to correct it-'

"I put him down from the rope…" Dumbledore said quietly, unaware of the soundless conversation. Harry wasn't sure if he meant it utterly of metaphorically, but found out he didn't really want to know. No matter what might have occurred in Snape's past, it wasn't enough to change his view of the man. He was a murderer. He was the reason Harry's parents were dead. And he tried to make Harry's life to Hell, as though it hadn't been bad enough before.

'I wasn't there that night. Both of them are so androit at Occlumency that I never found out what really happened. And Albus was never ingenuous with me since I forbade him to create his own Horcrux.'

'But that's – that's Dark Arts!'

Fawkes nodded. Dumbledore in the back of the Library started humming a quaintly familiar melody. It was terribly sad.

'Yes, the Horcruxes are part of the darkest magic there is and as such they are resistant against attacks of Light. However, it also makes them quite vulnerable to the Dark Arts themselves.'

'But why would he – I mean, I know he's not…not _the man he pretended to be_, but, for goodness' sake, it's Dumbledore!' Harry stared at the silvery figure, leaning over the tome, his head nodding to the rhythm of his song. Did it look like this when Dumbledore became emotional?

'Oh yes. And it would be very Dumbledoresque(3) to create a Horcrux, trust me. I bet Aberforth's got one or two somewhere, although nobody disappeared around him. I suppose he's very talented at not getting caught.

However, the phoenixes are creatures of Light – we have no means to harm dark objects such as Horcruxes, just as the creatures of Darkness can't harm us.' Harry suddenly remembered the fight in the Chamber of Secrets. Fawkes had attacked the Basilisk head on, unafraid of the killing sight, merely careful to avoid the fangs… Yes, that explained a lot. For example why did the spiders flee – after all, they were also dark creatures, only far less powerful.

'And therefore I need you – my trainees – and I need you skilled in Dark Arts.' Harry started feeling uncomfortable sitting on the hard wood and repositioned himself into the soft plush, abandoned by Ginny.

'What if I didn't want to learn that?'

Fawkes chirped, quietly, as to not disturb Dumbledore's reminiscence.

'You would be the first. Every potentially powerful wizard is naturally attracted to them. To tell the truth, you were the first of my charges unpractised in them at the time I 'fostered' you.'

'So Dumbledore…' Harry didn't complete the question. In the light of the recent events it didn't seem _that_ astounding that the child Dumbledore would be secretly studying Dark Arts.

'Of course. He was a very inquisitive boy – the night I finally fostered him I had found him over a book on Inferi – in his third year! – needless to say I hardly believed my eyes. Fortunately he didn't get further than to practising on mice.' Harry gulped. But better mice than classmates. His imagination presented him with a picture of small auburn-haired boy crouching in the corner of the Gryffindor common room and awoking zombie-rodents.

'How do you choose _us_, then? I thought you were taking the most – well – most _visible_ wizard in the Defence, or something like that…'

Fawkes chortled, startling Dumbledore into disrupting the song.

'No, Harry. That wouldn't work – look at Tom, it didn't work for him… No, I simply choose the most powerful of the generation and _make_ them fight for Light.'

'You wanted Riddle…' he stated, not really surprised. The phoenix had mentioned it before, though Harry, after seeing those memories of Voldemort's past, couldn't quite imagine the boy being subdued and obedient to a bird.

'Yes, and precious Albus blew it up.'

'How?'

Fawkes sent the ghost a dark look.

'I cannot have two charges at once, as he very well knew. And I couldn't abandon Albus before he defeated Grindelwald. But he _had to_ wait for the end of term, and by the time he was done with it, Tom had escaped my reach.'

'But that was in 1945, wasn't it?' Harry asked, remembering the Chocolate Frog Card.

'Yes. Two weeks after graduation of the seventh-years(4). Fourteen days too late. I told him so. _He_ was being stubborn.'

'Is that an attempt to convince _me_ not to be stubborn? Because if so, then it is failing.' The phoenix hung its head. Harry sighed.

'Look, I'm sorry. But you've said it yourself – I am _not_ like Dumbledore. And the situation is different.'

'But the contrproductive obstinacy is the same.'

'I didn't say a word _against_ him. I didn't demand that he was chucked out of the Order. I accepted your decision and I'll put up with him as my fellow member. But that's it.'

'Give him a chance,' Fawkes pleaded.Sensing the concern in the phoenix's plead hit something inside Harry, but nevertheless, he shook his head.

"I gave him hundereds."

popopopopo

(3) Dumbledoresque – this word was invented by J.K. Rowling. Doesn't belong to me. Just in case.

(4) Check it! Tom Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year, that was 50 years before the 'Chamber' (1992-1993), that means 1942-43 his seventh year was 1944-45. Lord Voldemort graduated in 1945, the same year as Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald


	12. William

Great big thanks to everyone who reviewed! Keep it up, Harry still has a long way to go and reviews are the best motivation…  
Brynn

Chapter 12: William

"Who is the lucky one?" asked Dumbedore and obviously thought it witty, because he smiled to his own joke and his silvery half-transparent eyes were twinkling once again. The short while of exposed weakness passed, and the ghost was once again his usual self.

"I don't know if he's lucky, sir. In fact, I doubt it."

"Somebody I know?"

"I don't know that, either. But I suppose… maybe you do." Dumbledore sighed.

"Let me guess: Severus."

Harry nodded; his throat was constricted as he awaited another fit of anger. But this time he would be prepared for it…

"I thought I said enough to this topic-" Dumbledore said surprisingly calmly, "I trust Severus and he will continue-"

"I'm not arguing, sir," Harry interrupted, trying to escape hearing another tirade. It was becoming wearisome. He had made his point and knew that despite it Fawkes would continue persuading him to 'forgive' Snape, but Fawkes respected his free will and wouldn't _force_ him.

"I'm glad," Dumbledore stated in a tone that left room for little doubt that he was convinced it was _his_ merit. "So, what _did_ you want to talk about?"

"Draco Malfoy," Harry answered without hesitation. The ghost frowned at him as though attempting to find some fishy intentions, but the boy was earnestly interested in Malfoy's fate.

"Why do you ask?"

Harry looked at him, striving to hide annoyance and impatience, and fighting against the pull of his body. He wanted to look like _himself_.

"Sir, I got up from my bed in the middle of the night and came here all the way from Hogwarts to tell you he was in danger. I want to know if it had any effect-"

"It had. Rest assured, Harry, that Mr Malfoy is as well as possible, considering the circumstances, that he is safe and has responsible people taking care of him."

Naturally. It wasn't at all surprising that Dumbledore would be convinced about Harry's desire to murder Malfoy. Why not, after all? There was outspoken animosity between them for years; why wouldn't Harry want to kill him just after going such lengths to save his life? Would Dumbledore hesitate being in his place, having such a chance?

The boy felt tears welling in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He wouldn't think of the ghost as Dumbledore. If that was what it meant to face the truth, then he didn't want to face it. Maybe the life was easier, nicer, when he could fool himself with believing that Albus Dumbledore was a great man, a great wizard, and a person he could always look up to.

"Could I… Could I see him?" he asked, more to hear the answer then due to actually _wanting_ to see the Slytherin. Maybe he really did have a 'saving people thing', but in any case it wasn't _so_ strong. The answer was exactly the one he had anticipated.

"No, I don't think that is a good idea."

Harry almost laughed, so absurd the situation seemed to him.The ghost glared at him, though still trying to conceal it, confident that Harry didn't see through the act and was just being childish. It was so… insulting.

"So you won't let me go."

"No, Harry, I won't."

The boy and the phoenix exchanged a glance. Fawkes's black eyes asked him to be patient, to not judge Dumbledore too harshly, to not revolt… But he didn't intend to do anything like that. He merely shrugged in an 'I thought so' fashion.

"Sir, I've heard that the Minister is causing troubles once again," he said, as though he wasn't just denied his wish. He could tell how much it surprised the ex-Headmaster yet the ghost dissembled it.

"Troubles?" he asked, feigning incomprehension. Harry suddenly understood how hard it was to deal with somebody who purposefully hindered the conversation. He promised himself to try not to do that in the future… though he knew that speaking to _certain_ people that task was not managable.

"Yes, sir, troubles. Like hunting werewolves, listing Metamorphmagi and making the Boy Who Lived their mascot without having the grace to let him know…" He really did try to make his voice conversational, but the bitterness, combined with his growing resentment towards the ghost, didn't allow him to completely hide the bite. Fawkes briefly glanced at him, but said nothing. Maybe he, too, felt it was deserved.

An "ah" was the only thing Dumbledore said before turning about to his desk. His translucent eyes skimmed the scattered papers and found the protruding edge of one covered with even – printed – figures.

"You have read the Daily Prophet?"

Harry shook his head. He did not count the single front-page article he had received from Ginny.

"No sir. And I don't intend to; I have better things to do with my time."

Dumbledore seemed puzzled and about to ask more questions, but Harry refused to be interrogated. Moreover by this being.

"Trouble is that the rest of the wizarding Britain obviously doesn't," he continued, denying Dumbledore the opportunity he had been striving for.

'What do you have in mind?' Fawkes asked and hopped closer, interested in the topic. He was a creature Harry could enjoy conversing with – never petty when it came to important subject. Despite having to control what he was saying it was so much easier. And he didn't have to pretend anything with the phoenix. That was… relaxing.

"I think the society is in desperate need of free press… and the Daily Prophet of competition." Fawkes's eyes glinted in the semi-darkness and Harry could virtually see the smirk forming, although for a bird such expression was physically impossible. Apparently, the phoenix knew where he was aiming and enjoyed the idea, probably enhancing and broadening it too then and there. Milleniums old, it had a bottomless supply of experience and, as Harry observed, imagination, tinted with a healthy bit of 'mischievousness'.

"I do not argue that point," Dumbledore stated and waited for the boy to elaborate, as though his 'extraordinary brainpower' had been all used up. Harry _just_ stopped himself from scowling.

'Do you know what they've been writing about me?' he asked of Fawkes, seeing as it would be faster than discussing it all with Dumbledore. He would inform the ghost of the basics, but that was it.

'I've got the general picture… Harry, this idea is worth a Sickle, if not Galleon. But I think you would do better to go to William with it, Albus is somewhat… un-constructive in the past days. Tell him I told you to – he can't _argue_ with that either.'

Just as the scowl a while ago, Harry carefully kept the smirk off his face.

"Sir, Fawkes says that I shouldn't bother you with this but go straight to Bill."

Fawkes was on the verge of giving him another disciplinary, he sensed it. He raised an eyebrow, but the only response was a contemplative silence.

"As Fawkes wishes then. Do you have another question, Harry?" Dumbledore looked at him indifferently, not even _feigning_ curiosity, rather sounding tired. It seemed that he was glad he didn't have to take care of whatever his former student had come to request, passing that _unpleasant chore_ to young Weasley. A week ago it would have touched Harry.

"I was under the impression that _you_ wanted to talk to _me_."

This time the disciplinary came – in the form of sticky dried grenadine all over his hands, which he considered very mild, especially given that it was for two lapses in a close succession.

"Oh, yes…" Dumbledore remembered and with another soft "ah" set out floating away.

"Just that you will remain at Hogwarts for your seventh year. Good luck." With that, stated as though it was self-evident that Harry would do whatever he's told, not being given the chance to choose for himself, the ghost passed through a wall. The boy gaped after him disbelievingly. When he finally remembered to shut his mouth he did so, glanced over at the phoenix and realised that its feather was actually almost glowing with overall magical energy, summoned by the desire to teach manners to a being that was unable to feel it.

"Yes-" he growled, staring at the spot between two shelves where the ghost disappeared, "I said that I was 'Dumbledore's man through and through'. But it was about that _other_ Dumbledore. So maybe it should have been 'Fawkes's man through and through'?" He heard a startled clap behind himself, but didn't give a damn. The phoenix told him it was proud. This felt a little bit like a pay-back.

"And that I still am!"

He swung to look at the bird. It was staring at him, as though _he_ was a ghost. Or as if he had growed another head… He checked that. He hadn't.

'Yes?' he inquired, calm after venting his anger. Fawkes kept gazing in Harry's eyes as he inclined his head.

'Sorry, fledgling. But it's the first time I've heard something like that with the reference to me.'

popopopopo

Walking past another line of candlesticks, which were more Dark-looking than those in lower levels, and a slight bit licentious, Harry realised just how sad it was – milleniums of takig care of the wizarding world without being acknowledged… All the thanks and honour going to some ungrateful big-headed prat with a shameful magical power…

He wondered how could Fawkes not have given up a long time ago.

'Maybe there is a prophecy looming over his head,' he thought (properly shielding it, of course) bitterly. He felt as though he finally had a comrade in misery, whether it was a predestination or not. The phoenix was in it with him.

What he didn't quite expect was that in that one point – him returning to school (or rather, not leaving it) – Fawkes agreed with his past charge. He knew they had to have a good reason for it, but he wasn't too happy. How was he supposed to fight against Voldemort when he would spend his free time over essays?

He suddenly froze; a cloaked person turned the corner and halted as though Petrified, facing him from the few-steps distance. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine and his hand instinctively gripped the handle of his wand harder.

"Potter," the man said, obviously shocked by Harry's presence in Harry's own house. Though his face didn't betray him, the boy could sense a wave of tension even through his heavy Occlumentical shields. It made Harry – however much he might have resented it – look into his eyes. Stupid Gryffindor bravery… There was something unusual in Snape's glare, something apart from contempt… fear. Harry blinked.

'When was Snape afraid of a student? Since when is he afraid of _me_?'

It was a nonsense. There was nothing of the sort and his eyes were being deceived yet again. He could think of no other explanation as he purposefully unfocused his eyes to avoid the stare without looking away.

"Snape," Harry responded in the same manner and his sight focused again as he wasn't able to keep it blurred any longer. He was somehow pleased by the disbelieving gaze his former teacher was giving him.Obviously, he had been expected to attack head-on.

"That will be 'sir'," Snape said finally, sneering to hide his surprise.

"No, that won't," Harry replied coldly and passed around the Potions Master. His teeth were immediately glued with non-existent treacle as both disciplinary and precaution.

'Harry, you are an intelligent young man. Why do you always let Severus get the better of you?' Fawkes asked wearily.

'I didn't reckon what I said was inappropriate,' he answered honestly and stopped in the hallway to look at the back of the dark-clad man. 'What _should_ I do? Look at the way he's treating me.'

'And how exactly is he treating you?' Harry scowled.

'As he would treat my father if he found him alive, bound and defenceless.'

The treacle disappeared and Fawkes inwardly sighed.

'I know how much it takes of you to put up with Severus's presence here. I also know how badly did you two clash every time you were forced to work together… But I have a suggestion for you.'

The boy nodded, watching Dumbledore's _resident_ spy continue his way. He was walking at a slower pace than usually; without the billowing robes behind him he looked almost human.

'You know I listen to you,' Harry thought when the phoenix didn't continue.

'Find out what you know about him.'

'How do you mean that?' Harry asked puzzled. He knew what he knew about Snape. _He_ was a 'former' Death Eater. A murderer, even if not _always_ willingly… He hated Harry.

'Take Albus's pensieve. I'm sure it will be enlightening.'

popopopopo

Harry doubted that very much. He didn't argue, just as he hadn't before, because he knew that there was no point. He might as well look into the pensieve; although he was pretty sure that he wasn't going to find anything new, it wouldn't hurt. And Fawkes would be happy. Merlin knew he deserved it.

The door to Bill's room was agape, and Harry knew that the present leader of the Order was waiting for him. He banished the efectless musings as he approached the thin stripe of white light on the carpet and peered inside.

He didn't know much about curse-breakers, but he had always imagined them as some kind of Aurors. Maybe Bill wasn't a typical specimen… but if he was, then Harry had been mistaken, judging from what he saw inside. He pushed the door open and entered, which set off some charm; it rang – not shrilly, but loud enough to be heard from the next room.

For there was obviously one – Harry got a glimpse of it as Bill went in, before he shut the door in the opposite wall, and guessed it to be an archive.

"Hello Harry. I thought I might see you…" he said joyfully, but the black circles under his eyes told tales about how tired he really was.

"Hi." Harry took some time to assess his surroundings. The counter to his right side resembled the one in Bill's dad's office, though there was hardly enough room for another object. It took him a while, but eventually Harry realised what all those things were – Dumbledore's mystic instruments from the Head's office! All crammed side by side, some of them even in the middle of some unidentifiable process, puffing ad buzzing.

"Surprised?" Bill asked with a short laugh and gently stroked a spindly-legged gadget that really looked more like an animal. This was Harry's chance to finally wise up what he had been aching to know for ages!

"What are they all used for?" Bill laughed again and his eyes glided over the counter.

"Each has a different purpose. Some of them are of no use to us, but this one for example-" he pointed at a five-legged buzzing upside-down pyramid, "is called a Quintaspot. It's a ward-watcher – it informs us about, and lists any intrusion or magical activity within. A handy creature…" He hushed and Harry knew he wasn't going to learn more. Maybe next time.

Bill pointed him to a chair on the other side of the room, just after he took an armful of parchment rolls off it and removed them on the table, effectively covering what he had been currently working on.

"I'm already adult, you know…"

Bill laughed, and this time it sounded more like him.

"Yep. But you're still in school."

Like he needed to be reminded. But Harry wasn't about to argue, at least not until he had found out why was it required of him to remain in Hogwarts for another year.

"Sorry, but even with old boss dead, old rules stay," Bill said sourly and sat down into the second chair that required a longer time to be freed. Harry could tell that, just like with McGonagall, the job was eating up on him. And Dumbledore used to do all that alone – well, with Fawkes, but it was still him who had to do the physical work.

'Use your head, Harry. Albus had a time-turner and, trust me, without it we would have been screwed. This age is so hasty.'

Harry gave Bill an uneasy smile when his eyes fell on a framed photograph on the wall. It was the same as his father had, with a small cute Ginny with two braids and ribbons and…

'You should start breathing again, fledgling. For your own good.'

It was hard to glare inwardly, but with Fawkes as a teacher, he had learnt even that. Now he put that to use, while Bill was rummaging about in a cabinet, leaning over the pile of parchment on the table.

'So will _you_ tell me why do I have to stay at Hogwarts?'

'Eventually… Maybe even tonight, depends on how far we get.'

Harry's eyes narrowed; he didn't care he was showing signs of the internal dialogue as Bill was still standing back to him.

'How far we get in what?'

'All in due time,' Fawkes replied mysteriously, but it lost all effect as Bill turned around and handed Harry a shallow stone basin with odd carvings around the edge – Dumbledore's pensieve. So that was it. The phoenix wanted a little truth-discovery session over a bowl of thoughts. However, he didn't mind too much unless it clashed with his other appointment.

"And here's the contents," Bill muttered and forced a crystal phial into Harry's hand. He stared at it wide-eyed. Those were… Dumbledore's memories. Surely they weren't supposed to come to him… Or maybe…

He remembered Fawkes's mysterious statement. Maybe they were.

Then his curiosty kicked in and Harry realised that this was a once-upon-a-lifetime chance. Even if he never should have laid his hands on this phial, now it was in his possession and it would take a lot to make him release it. Dumbledore never gave him all the answers; this might have been a way to find them on his own.

"Fawkes _informed_ me about your idea," Bill spoke and Harry quickly pocketed the bottle of thoughts, hiding it from all eyes in case somebody realised it wasn't supposed to be there. The fact that the leader knew about Fawkes's position in the Order seemed natural to him; even though he had not been told before he didn't spare it a second thought.

"And?"

"Perfect. Approved. Set in motion," he said with a grin. "By the way, did you follow something specific with the plan?"

"Well…" Harry took a moment to formulate what he wanted to say. "Scrimegour severely lacks opposition. He's got Daily Prophet under his thumb and people actually trust the paper."

Bill scowled.

"I thought you weren't receiving it?"

It was Harry's turn to be mysterious.

"I am not… But I have my ways."

The red-headed man merely arched an eyebrow. Harry didn't pay it mind and continued.

"I just have a suggestion. I think you should address the people who were chucked out of Prophet for wanting to write the truth. They might like the chance to do so…"

Bill nodded, not quite managing to hide his surprise.

'Damn, I am adult and still alive! Why does everybody think I can't come up with good ideas?'

"And I want to give interview. A real one, for a change… and maybe even more than one…" he said instead.

popopopopo

'What are you thinking about?'

Harry laughed. Indeed, that was a good question, but the answer to it would be somewhat too long for him to bother to speak. Ginny, for example – she was on his mind a lot, in number of different contexts. And Snape – he and Dumbledore were having secrets (an old tale, but still attracting attention), which seemed to concern somebody close to Harry… or himself. Then Dumbledore personally, though _he_ was a topic Harry was trying to avoid…

'I'd really like to have one of those spindly-legged things…'

Fawkes gave him a piercing obsidian glare. Harry shrugged, knowing perfectly well that his answer had been a bit too random. Though truthful. He _really_ would like one of those things. If for nothing else than to find out what they were used for.

'Harry…'

'Do I have to do this?' He stared frustratedly at the swirling mass in the stony bowl in front of him. After all the trouble Fawkes went through explaining to him how to extract the silvery threads from his mind, he didn't like the prospect of reliving those memories a bit.

'No.'

'No?' he asked disbeliebingly, gaping at Fawkes as if he had said the Prophecy was a fluke and he didn't have to kill Voldemort. How many of the things he believed were compulsory in fact didn't need to be done?

'Of course you don't _have to_. But, fledgling, for the sake of us all, do it, please.'

Harry sighed. Naturally, he _didn't have to_. Just like he _didn't have to_ kill Voldemort. But the other option was getting killed himself.

'All right. But I want you to know I don't like this…'

Fawkes's laughter echoed in his mind as he put his hands on both sides of the pensieve on his working desk. His memories of Snape… as if it wasn't enough he had to suffer all those things once.

'We all sometimes have to do things we don't like…'

Harry nodded. Coming from the phoenix, the meaning of those word gained a completely new dimension.

'I'm pathetic, am I not?' After all, he just had to keep one Dark Lord from conquering the world. Compared to what Fawkes had to do throughout the millenia… it was picayune.

'No.'

He heard a flurry of movement behind his back and a significant weight perched itself on Harry's shoulders, bringing a feeling of content and renewing his self-confidence.

'You are my fledgling,' Fawkes stated as if it explained everything. Slightly amazed, the Gryffindor realised it did as he plunged his face into the basin.

popopopopo

Harry stood in front of the tall, heavy door to the Great Hall. It was somewhat unexpected; never before had he entered a memory in that he had to walk through something solid. The faint sounds from inside told him the sorting was currently taking place, so he was in fact inside… why did he appear here then? Was someone going to open the door for him?

He waited for a long while, the sorting ended and Dumbledore's "Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak-" resounded.

'Damn. I _know_ nobody entered the Hall after us… so what the Hell am I supposed to do to get there?'

There was a sensation of sand _all_ over his body. The tiny grains had gotten into the most impossible places and scratched and itched… and Harry belatedly remembered 'language'.

'Think, fledgling. You are an astral projection – I doubt a _thought_ of door could stop you.'

It was good to know that Fawkes was still with him, even though he had not entered the memory.

'I can talk to somebody outside?'

'You are a Legilimens, Harry. And a rather skilled one – the matters of mind shouldn't disconcert you. Besides, you are my foster-hatch, the link between us is strong.'

Harry nodded, coerced by the lingering feeling of closeness took a few steps away from the door, and turned to face them.

'Harry-'

He took off running. The screen of the wood was nearing at rapid speed, closer, closer, too close; he was going to crash. And just like with the platform nine and three quarters he passed through it, hardly even feeling any difference from air.

Inside it looked just like he remembered; just like it always did. Stars shone on dining students from a velvety sky. Hundreds of candles floated in the air. Ghosts glided over their respective house tables; he could see grim-looking Nick chatting with Ron, gripping his ear and pulling his head off his neck.

He walked down the aisle towards himself, passing a line of more and less familiar Gryffindors and Ravenclaws until he reached Percy. The red-haired prefect was talking to Hermione.

"I cannot even express how fascinating all this is to me! I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration…"

But then Harry's vision blurred and someone forcibly removed him to a different spot. It was right in front of the Head Table, in fact, he must have stood in Snape's line of glare and then his tiny self looked up from the loaded plate and scowled at him with… He knew it was pain. It just looked like disgust so much…

'Was this why he began to hate me?' he asked, surprised that the usually controlled man would lower himself to something so petty.

'I'm afraid this was the last drop…'

'But that… that's just so… so ridiculous! Look, Quirrel was turned back to me, so it had to be Voldemort and I… I had to suffer six years of weekly Hell because bloody Voldemort decided to look at me at the wrong time?'

Harry raged. Fawkes tried to soothe him, but, apparently, this was the last drop before Harry lost it himself. After the death of his parents, Cedric, Sirius and Dumbledore himself, the unfairness of that coincidence sent the boy over the edge.

popopopopo

He pulled out of the pensieve, shuddering, and immediately scurried away, shutting the hangings around his bed.

'Oh, come on. One more and I'll leave you be.'

It surprised even Fawkes himself when Harry peered out from behind the curtains and with a stony expression asked: "Promise?"

'Promise.'

popopopopo

Going through his first ever Potions lesson, Harry found it had been just as unfair and just as humiliating, if not worse, as he had remembered it. His mood was below the freezing point, having just re-witnessed one of the scenes he had been going to in his dreams for years.

He refused Fawkes's embrace, politely asking him to heave. The phoenix complied.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, face covered with hands, and listened to the silence that filled the empty castle. Nothing. Fawkes had gone, probably back to Grimmauld Place…

"That was the bloody most humiliating thing you ever did to me…" he whispered, scowling at the stony basin on his desk. Just thinking about Snape made him feel cold… he wasn't in the state to meet with Nigellus.

Fortunately, he still had almost two hours before he had to go. And Fawkes was far, far away… He reached into his pocket and brought out the bottle with Dumbledore's memories. Turning it over, he guided the silvery strands into the pensieve with the help of his wand, too late realising that he had left his own two memories among them… The shiny substance swirled and shot out a mass of thin purple and emerald tentacles.

Harry covered behind the chair and didn't look out before the coughing and spluttering sounds stopped. In the following quiet he climbed to his feet. A small silvery figure arose from the misty surface and Harry gagged – it was Snape. That in itself wouldn't be as surprising, but this Snape was _kneeling_.

"What?" he spat, not quite yelling, but inserting all the anger and hatred he felt into it. "Are you sorry? Wonderful. That's just what I needed to hear.

I bet you are sorry that you killed him, too. Aren't you?" He scoffed at the small mirage and lay back, staring unseeingly at the canopy.

'More than anything.'

Harry shot up instantly.

He had seen Dumbledore doing this before, but the figures in the basin never spoke. They were shadows, they-

Then he realised that the memory of Snape hadn't spoken aloud. It was a thought. And Harry could read thoughts, couldn't he? At least to an extent.

He drew a long breath and sat down on his bed again, gazing blankly into nothingness. He could ask, read, know everything. Everything that the memories of memories contained. He instinctively felt that what he had found was extremely dangerous… And still, the Gryffindor in him couldn't waste the opportunity.

"Are-are you afraid of me? What do you think of me?"

He knew it was a mistake. He had known it even before he had asked, but now it was too late. The first thing the figure-Snape did was that it stood up from the kneeling position. Its face went through several changes, reflecting various emotions. Then it turned its back to Harry and folded its hands.

'You shouldn't have been… Potter.'

'What the Hell is that supposed to mean?' He must have misunderstood. He tried the reading again.

'You shouldn't have been… Potter.'

"I shouldn't have been what?"

'Idiot.'


	13. Phineas Nigellus

Thanks for all the kind reviews! Another chapter for you… the next one might take a while. Please, be patient; reviews generally make me more movtivated (hint, hint:-).

Chapter 13: Phineas Nigellus

In an hour, Harry tried several experiments to extract his two memories from the mass of Dumbledore's, and eventually succeeded, though a few of them ended with a nasty recollections of things he had never experienced.

The first of them was easily the worst so far.

popopopopo

Harry landed on the cobbled stone. He hastily climbed to his feet and instinctively cowered from the light, retreating into the shadows, disregarding the fact that it was a memory and thus nobody could see him anyway.

Before he could study his surroundings – although he had time enough to notice that he appeared in a rather narrow and rather dirty street enlightened by gas lamps – a man came strutting down the road. Harry was convinced that he had never seen this man before. He must have been an Auror, judging by his look – he wore a dark blue suit with as many pockets as any ordinary uniform might have had, and high heavy boots that surprisingly made no sound. He had a short, military hair-style and yet Harry felt that this man was not a soldier… at least not in the traditional sense.

Then the man walked into a bubble of dim light and Harry gasped – there was no mistake, the face was Dumbledore's. It was, of course, a much younger Dumbledore. The short hair had was the same auburn colour as the long in Riddle's memory.

He gulped subconsciously. Dumbledore strode past him and Harry decided that he didn't want to follow, but some invisible pull (most likely the limited extension of the memory) dragged him after the former and future Headmaster. The boy braced himself and to avoid being pushed around decided to walk by himself.

Dumbledore stopped abruptly a few seconds later, examining a label next to a seemingly random door. It apparently was the place he had been looking for, because he knocked on the wood – forcefully, but not loud enough to attract attention of the other inhabitants of the street.

"Wer seid ihr?(5)" sounded from the inside.

"Albus," replied Dumbledore quietly. The door slid open and then shut quickly behind the newcomer, as though the people inside were afraid of whatever might have been lurking in the night. Harry took a deep breath and crossed the wall.

He appeared in a relatively bright sitting room, just behind Dumbledore's back. There was one more man there, the one who had opened the door. He looked… like Dumbledore's twin.

"Hello, Gal. Long time no see," said Dumbledore with a sneer.

"I've told you two hundred and forty-five times not to call me that, Albus. So, what happened to courtesy? Or is it truth that without Fawkes you are about as unmannered as a low-class Aur-"

The man stopped in the middle of the sentence, facing the tip of Dumbledore's wand. He gulped and re-focused from the stick to the man brandishing it.

"It is. Faw-"

"The plucked chicken's not here to save your ass this time, _Galahad_." There was a disgusting portion of self-appreciation in Dumbledore's voice. The other man started backing away, the expression of uncertainty and displeasure changing into sheer fright.

"You wouldn't-"

"Oh, don't play soft now. You didn't act so timidly last time we met."

"What are you trying to-"

"I've _got to_ dispatch one terribly evil wizard, you know… not you, you-"

"I am not evil!" growled the man and there was a familiar blaze in his eyes. It was more than obvious that he and Dumbledore were family.

"Of course you're not. All Light and virtuous… _nomen omen_(6), cousin… However, unfortunately you stand in my way."

"In your way?" whispered Galahad incredulously, "I left the country to not _bother_ you. What do you want now?"

Harry shivered. This was the side of the Dumbledore he didn't know, the one he refused to see… But he should have expected something like this. A man who single-handedly disposed of an evil warlock of power equal to Voldemort's couldn't be a simple merry eccentric teacher.

"I want information."

Galahad smiled and straightened.

"No."

"What!" barked Dumbledore, appalled with the gall.

"I said 'no', cousin. You should have your hearing checke-"

Instead of the end of the sentence there was a scream and Galahad sank to his knees in pain. Harry paled and tried to lunge at Dumbledore, but the memory was as insubstantial as ever. There was nothing he could do, but it was way too hard to accept that, as he watched one of his father-figures torture his own cousin.

"Where is it?"

Galahad, still shaking with tremors, laughed defiantly.

"There's one thing you never understood, Albus. The Unspeakables don't speak."

Dumbledore scowled and then the sneer returned.

"Very well. _Avada Kedavra_."

popopopopo

Harry spent the rest of his time sitting on his bed, trying to forget the memory, but somehow it didn't work. Skilled in Dark Arts, maybe, but he never even suspected Dumbledore would use the Unforgivables… so freely… on a member of his own family… who was fightingfor the light…

He stared at the opposite wall unmovingly for a long, long time. At quarter to twelve he rose, stuck the pensieve into the shelf of his desk (he had to discard some parchments to make space for it; those now lay _on_ the desk in a messy heap) and, just in case, locked the door to the room behind himself, as he made his way down to the common room. He dropped in the bathroom to wash off the dried traces of tears on his cheeks. It seemed that the cold water, with significant support of his Occlumency, managed to drive the experience into the back of his mind. He felt almost prepared for the meeting.

The castle was just as empty, cold, unwelcoming, as it usually was and Harry noticed he had become used to it. Once the other students were back, it might be just as hard to get accustomed to the noise again.

And not only the noise – the prefects and the Heads prowling the corridors at night would make it a pain to walk around the castle after the curfew (although he had a distinctive feeling that Fawkes wouldn't give a damn, and at Hogwarts Fawkes's word was law – well, as long as somebody could translate it)… He didn't fancy staying there for the seventh year too much. Then again… maybe it was better than letting himself be killed in the next few months… He suspected that might have been the reason why Fawkes was so adamant about the matter.

The trophy room was easily accessible – there were no locks and the door complied under the faintest pressure, without a sound, hinges perfectly oiled after thousands of detentions they had witnessed. Harry's own detentions usually took place in different parts of the castle, so he didn't suffer any aversion to the location, although when he stopped for a while to simply take in his surroundings, the overwhelming history seemed to attempt to smother him.

"Lumos," he whispered unnecessarily. The tip of his wand glowed and his eyes adjusted, obscuring the unlit rest of the Hall from his sight. Harry wasn't sure he liked it better like this, but, in the end, it didn't matter.

"Finally. Welcome, Mr Potter," growled an annoyed man. Harry tried to follow the direction from which the sound came, despite his own annoyance. He was five minutes earlier, after all… He faced a life-sized poster hanging on the wall.

A young, dark-haired man smirked smugly and waved at him – like a king would wave at his vassals. His face showed the very same as the motion had: I am better than you, love me… So very Slytherin point of view. Although, judging by the banner above the wizard's head, announcing that he was the Champion of the European Duelling Tournament, _this time_ the smugness might have been justified.

"Good evening," he said, careful to not reveal how he felt about the welcome. Within seconds Nigellus stood next to the dark-haired young man. The two portraits nodded to each other in an almost warm greeting and Harry couldn't miss the similarity. They must have been relatives.

"Just to get this straight," Nigellus started, "all the time in the world might be on my hands, but I don't intend to spend here a second more than is necessary. Getting bored to death is a better occupation than a conversation like this…"

Harry felt like snappig, telling the man to shut his big fat mouth and clear off if _he_ had a problem. After all, this late-night meeting was _his_ idea. Fortunately, the ex-Headmaster continued before he could say anything.

"Accidentally, there is something I feel you could help me with and, welladay, _you_, of all people, are the only one."

Harry raised an eyebrow in a silent question. When there was no answer, he decided to be the less obstinate one, for the sake of getting some sleep that night, and remembering how bothersome it was to lead a purposely hindered conversation.

"What is in it for me?" he inquired. It was a normal, albeit distinctly Slytherin thing to want to know when asked for help. Harry _could_ speak with the man in his own language. He received an ever so slightly content expression.

"Very well. It seems that we might be able to handle after all. I have a deal to propose."

'So much I figured.'

"I listen," he said, feigning blatant disinterest. It was so much fun watching the expressions on Nigellus's face change at rapid face and Harry was inwardly laughing. So this was how Dumbledore used to do it…

"I want you to destroy something."

'Not too original.'

"What is in it for me?" he repeated indifferently, but making his point clear – unless he got something he would find worth the trouble, there would be no trouble for him at all.

"Access to the third greatest Dark Arts library in the world."

Harry just stopped himself from whistling. Now that one _was_ worth a lot of trouble… But he couldn't afford to let Nigellus know.

"Why should I be interested?"

Unexpectedly, it was the young duellist who answered him.

"Mr Potter, I do respect you and reciprocity would only be appropriate. I am not stupid."

'Stupid? I wouldn't think so… stupid people aren't winning tournaments or directing a school… At least that explains the resemblance between the two. Why does it not surprise me…'

"Fine. I don't deny that your offer _is_ interesting. Provided it _is_ trustworthy-" they both wanted to reproach but Harry stopped them, holding his hand up. "What do you want me to destroy?"

Both Phineases Nigelluses grinned unnaturally, exposing four rows of perfect teeth.

"A painting," responded the older one. "A simple picture, but you must be thorough. There can't be a splinter of the frame left lest they can restore it…"

Harry's mind raced.

'A picture. Why would Nigellus want to destroy a picture? Wait… Of course. He does not like being McGonagall's messenger boy a bit more than he liked being Dumbledore's. He hates his duty as the ex-Headmaster. He wants freedom…

That sounds positively cheesy, but I guess I can empathise.'

"The Head's office is well guarded. Especially against offensive magic." Although Dumbledore certainly managed to stun some Auror's in there… Maybe it wasn't _that_ hard… even if Dumbledore, despite all his limitations surely was one damn powerful wizard… Then again, Harry was picked for the same league.

"You think I don't know that? I _live_ there and I had put up the majority of those wards myself."

That again did explain a lot. Yet Harry still didn't feel at ease with breaking in McGonagall's office and destroying one of her communication means, not to speak maybe the only direct connection to the Grimmauld Place.

"I was under the impression that your portrait was… important to the Order."

Nigeluses laughed mirthlessly.

"Important? It _had been_ essential. Now it's about as important as my fool of a _grandson_."

Harry's eyes blazed with fury, but he managed to constrain it before he morphed in front of the man.

"And what had changed?" Harry asked through clenched teeth.

"Dumbledore's portrait was activated. And he had the great idea of positioning himself in the centre of the Order even in his death…" the younger Nigellus answered half-bitterly, half-spitefully, while the older one wordlessly seethed. Harry once again guessed the answer.

"So that's who they replaced Sirius's mother with." Of course. Dumbledore had once been a Quidditch player – he would keep a portrait of those times...

There was a confirmation in the form of a nod from the young man, and Harry found that he maybe, just maybe liked the boy-Phineas a bit. He was a lot better than Malfoy. Had a spine.

"What can I use?" he asked, startling both two-dimensional wizards with his easy acceptance.

"Anything raw. Wordless. But… I suppose you aren't skilled enough in Dark Arts, are you?"

Harry had very little idea what Nigellus was talking about, just some hints that he remembered from the books on Dark Arts he had read, but that wasn't nearly enough. He shook his head. The ex-Headmaster sighed.

"I thought so. The polished rotten freak wouldn't let you near them… Was araid of what you could do if properly trained… Had you been studying under me you could have been accomplished by now. Pity. You would have to do it the harder way."

"Can't I get around it?" he asked, referring to the way Dumbledore got rid of the Aurors.

"Hardly. Dear Albus had a feeling that the wards needed some improvement – you can use non-permanent offensive Light Magic in there, in the case you are the current Headmaster. You obviously aren't."

"And even if I were, non-permanent isn't good anough for you," Harry supplied readily. The two portraits nodded. Now this was getting better, maybe he could after all learn to talk to Slytherins. They seemed as an interesting bunch with a lot of healthy opinions.

"You have to use potions."

Harry snickered. He just couldn't suppress it.

"You don't have the Head's office warded against potions?"

"I had; but Dumbledore always lacked the flair for the art and that caused him to have a tendency to underestimate them… There are quite a few things you could use."

Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"And _you_ trust _me_ to brew a violent and volatile concoction correctly."

Nigellus laughed.

"Of course. From what I've heard from Dylis, both your parents had it in them." Harry somehow doubted James ever looked at Potions without making a sour face. Alhough… to be sure, he would have to ask Remus. It was quite like the snakes to try and flatter him, even through his dead parents, he just hadn't expected that kind of behaviour from Nigellus. "You could be quite the brewer one day…"

popopopopo

Harry went to sleep soon thereafter, but there was one thing that would never leave his mind. He really wanted to start on his end of the deal right away, and at the same time he felt like cornering Nigellus and making him tell everything he knew about Hogwarts, the Order, and Harry's parents. However, he did not do either of them. Firstly his common sense reminded him that he had to sleep to be ready for the warm-up, and then his brain told him it was quite probable anything any Slytherin said was a lie. This Slytherin especially.

Yet, even in his sleep the thoughts of the task he had taken up on wouldn't leave him…

popopopopo

Harry sat in a cozy kitchen. It was a small room, just big enough to accommodate the oven, the table, the bank he was sitting on, the chair and a the cupboard. It was obviously either in a very old house, or he was dreaming of past… however, what was perfectly unexpected and inexplicable was the fact that this kitchen, despite its medieval furniture, was bathed in sunlight. It was coming in through a pair of huge windows behind Harry's back. They were clean glass, framed with wood and adorned with spider-web delicate curtains.

The golden colour of the rays showed that it was early, probably just a few minutes since the dawn. He, though, didn't feel sleepy at all. One look out through those windows told him it was summer, recently after a storm, and the owner of the house liked red geraniums. When he turned back to the desk, there was a steaming mug of tea placed between his hands.

"Good morning," said a man standing in the doorway (there was no door, but Harry couldn't think of a better word to describe the entrance) and nodded to the sitting boy. He didn't seem sleepy either.

"Good morning," Harry replied cautiously, but a second later his worries dissipated. This man wouldn't harm him. This man was… maybe his friend? Although he didn't remember anyone from his past who might have ever looked like this. The man was not too tall – maybe slightly taller than Harry – and had a long wavy dark-blonde hair bound in a loose bun to keep them out of way. He wore a linen tunic, leather pants and boots on a small heel that might have added the inch Harry was lacking on him. He had a warm smile and wise dark-brown eyes.

"Toast?" he asked and went to prepare breakfast. Harry bethought it.

"Yes please… can I help you?"

The man, turned back to Harry and raking through the cupboard, nodded.

"Drop in the hen-house and collect the eggs. The basket is in the stoop."

Harry's jaw lowered slightly, but he obeyed. The hall was narrow and dark, as would be proper for a medieval building. Its far end was filled with a stash of tools – scythe, sickle, rake, drag, wheelbarrow, ladder, chisel, hack, basket… Out of the kitchen he felt like he was in a different century. He glimpsed a large empty messed-up bed with a wooden headboard.

He pushed a long raincoat hanging from a hook out of his way and climbed out into the summer morning. The air was delicious and warmth spread in Harry's limbs as he looked around. The site was distinctly reminiscent of Burrow, although he could tell that he was somewhere else – other houses were in sight and the settlement wasn't Ottery St. Catchpole.

The hen-house stood somewhat to his right. He found it easily – followed the cock-a-doodle-do. The roof was higher than he had expected, although he had to bend really low to get inside. It was yet warmer there, but at the same time quiet, as long as the cock kept its beak shut. It reminded Harry of Fawkes… He had to shoo some of the hens out of their claimed spots – he had no idea where he had learned that – but eventually collected ten eggs and proudly returned to the kitchen, smelling a bit worse but feeling a bit better.

"Thank you, lad," said the blonde man with a content smile, took the basket from Harry's hands and gestured him to the table. "Your toast. Do you like honey?"

Harry nodded and resumed his previous position in front of the windows. His host joined him within a minute, putting a keramic jar of golden liquid between them.

"Eat up."

Harry obeyed and as soon as he felt the taste in his mouth he beamed at the man. Brown eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"Wonderful, isn't it? It's what gave me the idea with Felicis."

'Felicis? Felix Felicis? He… he's the inventor?' Harry's eyes widened as he stared at the face of one of the most brilliant Potions Masters of all time.

"Who are you, sir?"

The man laughed with mirth and tousled Harry's hair in an almost Sirius-like way. It brought a ghost of pain and an overwhelming sensation of happiness and… friendship? Love?

"Just an Auror. And your friend… Don't worry child. I think its time you went back. Both of us have potions to brew. Try… try Lucretia's Vengeance, I think. That one should work."

"How… did I get here?" Harry asked, noticing that his surroundings were becoming blurred.

"I would guess a residue of too many mixed memories of people who knew me? Or somebody did that on purpose. Do you have a very old friend?"

Harry gaped. An old friend? Dumbledore had been ancient. And while he was alive, he was also sort of a friend…

"Dumbledore?" he tried. The blonde squinted.

"Galahad? That's the youngest of them lot I believe…"

Harry sadly shook his head, force-fighting the stolen memory back into the proverbial cupboard. The Auror smiled.

"Don't worry. This is not real, but it is true. Do you think you can comprehend the difference?"

He nodded. It was like… like a lot of things in his life. Like the admiration he had held for Dumbledore. Like his and Ginny's relationship. Like Snape's betrayal.

"Good, fledgling. Fly."

The scene vanished away and Harry woke up, staring at the canopy of his four-poster and blinking. Fawkes. Of course – he should have suspected it when the phoenix proposed something as far-fetched as re-assessing his attitude towards Snape using the pensieve.

And, with a strange shift somewhere deep within him, he was grateful for the meeting. He was pretty sure he knew who the blonde Auror had been. The same person he had longed to acquaint. His proverbial guardian angel. Vivax.

He liked the man even more than he had imagined he would. It was… as if he found a long lost family. Someone to welcome, accept and appreciate him… maybe a bit like Fawkes, but… human. A father figure – though not real, at least a true one. One of the empty spaces in his heart he was so achingly aware of seemed to fill up a bit.

popopopopo

(5)"Who are you?"

(6)The name is omen.


	14. Galahad Dumbledore

A/N: Be patient with me, please! I know it takes me an incredibly long time to produce a chapter, but just today I had to discard two pages of text, because while it was nice and funny, it was of absolutely no importance to the story… So bear with me, please!  
Also, the plot is becoming more twisted, so I wonder what you think is actually going on. Review and satisfy my curiosity!  
Brynn

Chapter 14: Galahad Dumbledore

At seven o'clock Harry was running his second lap. Half an hour later he was properly warmed-up and stalking back to the castle. Already from the distance he sensed Fawkes's familiar presence.

He met with the phoenix in the Great Hall. It pecked on the oat flakes, though didn't seem content with the lack of chocolate, while Harry ate his breakfast. He picked up a jar of milk and they retreated into the quiet of the library before any stray member of the staff could come across them.

Once the door was closed behind them Fawkes disturbed the silence.

'Are you feeling well?'

Where did that come from?

'I'm fine, thanks. Why do you ask?'

'You were troubled yesterday. When you asked me to go. And I cannot read you anymore.'

Harry shook his head.

'I'm sorry for yesterday. It's just… When I found that Snape hates me because Voldemort caused my scar to hurt in the worst moment imaginable…'

Fawkes descended on the working desk next to the spot where Harry had put the jar and took a peek of the book the boy had currently opened in front of him. _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy._

'Hmm… I didn't quite expect you to read that one.'

Somehow Harry wasn't surprised to find that Fawkes was literate.

'I'm trying to find somebody.'

'Why don't you ask?'

Harry smiled and steered the conversation in a slightly different direction.

"I wanted to thank you."

'Thank me for what?' inquired the phoenix.

"For the… vision or memory or what it was… for letting me meet Vivax."

'I did no such thing.'

Harry looked up from the page. Of course, he couldn't have been certain, but he would have bet it had been Fawkes's doing. If not… What else? Or was Vivax's other assumption right – was it a residue of mixed memories? Had Dumbledore stored the recollection of someone older than himself among his own? Maybe the phoenix would know…

'Then how was it possible?'

The bird cocked its head to the right, while its reflection in the jar did the same to the left.

'I am not sure. However, the pensieve did not originally belong to Albus; he inherited it. It might be storing memories older than what he remembered… or it was merely caused by mixed oddments of whatever the annoying man dared throw together in there. Well, I must admit that his idea of combining memories from different sources did turn out to be working in our advantage…'

Harry lifted an eyebrow, but Fawkes didn't bother to elaborate.

"Did you know him? Vivax, I mean," he asked after a while of silence. It _would_ indeed speed up the process of searching.

'Yes.'

Harry's heart leapt. He gave up on the book, slammed it shut and directed his attention to the phoenix.

'Was he your charge?'

'No, I had another at the time. And he wasn't magically that strong, rather… genius. Yes, Felix was undoubtedly a genius…'

'Felix?' asked Harry befuddled.

'That was his name.'

'Yeah, I figured 'Vivax' was just a pseudonym when there was not one information on him in the entire library… So, who was he? What was he like?'

Fawkes bethought it for a while. Harry already began to get impatient when the phoenix answered.

'He was a good father. And would have been a great grandfather…' Harry saddened, probably receiving the emotion from Fawkes together with the words. He was disappointed, though; he had expected to find out much more, and a very different kind of information.

'What happened?'

'He invented a potion that killed him.'

"Lucretia's Vengeance?" suggested Harry.

'I had no idea you knew about that one.' It sounded rather uncertainly. Harry had a bad feeling that it was something that Fawkes didn't particularly like.

'I just stumbled upon it. Seemed… uh… interesting?'

Fawkes spent another while eyeing his reflection in the jar. His charge re-opened the book and started reading from where he had stopped. Felix. That might help…

'No. It was a different one. Lucretia is dangerous, but only to those who do not pay enough attention. The thing that killed him was far more vicious.'

"Is there something wrong with the Lucretia's Vengeance?" he asked. Fawkes clapped his beak several times and then annoyedly beat his wings.

'I don't think so, not morally. It's been banned for more than half a century, but the young Malfoy – Abraxas's son – payed for it to be scratched off the list of illegals.'

"But?" Harry asked because it was apparent that there was a 'but'.

'Since Felix himself I've never heard of it being used for any good.'

Harry couldn't think of anything to say. He wouldn't lie, certainly not to the phoenix, but he wasn't sure how to classify his intentions with the potion. He would have to wait and see the effect his actions.

'Try to find a book writted by Rayburn Longbottom.'

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Longbottom?"

'Yes. Rayburn-'

"Is he related to Neville?" Harry interposed rudely. He was chastised by chilli, which he considered inappropriately cruel. He poured himself a glass of milk, despite knowing that it wouldn't help.

'Rayburn was Neville's grandfather and, coincidentally, Felix's apprentice for quite some time. If I remember correctly, they perfected Lucretia together. Then Felix died… and after Augusta returned from Germany, Rayburn married her and abandoned the research… shame. He was such a promising boy…'

Harry mentally nominated the fact that a Longbottom was a promising potion maker as one of the most precious slapsticks of life. Snape would…

Harry sighed. Snape would just torment poor Neville all the more. Or maybe he had known it all the time and tried to scare some semblance of the old Rayburn out of the boy… Bad train of thoughts. He didn't want to ponder the former Potions Master.

Fawkes disappeared in a whirlwind of flames and Harry stood up to peruse the library for a book written by his friend's grandfather.

popopopopo

When Fawkes returned, late in the evening, Harry had Rayburn Longbottom's book propped open on his desk in the Gryffindor dormitory, and was in the middle of writing out the ingredients and their masses.

'So you are going to brew it…' Harry looked at the bird perching on his bed, and lay down his quill.

'I thought you didn't mind.'

'It's up to you, Harry. You are going to become the leader of my Order. You need to make people trust your judgement and to do that you have to learn to trust it yourself.'

Harry closed his eyes, leant back in his chair, and sighed. It would have been so much easier if Fawkes simply forbade it – he would just have to decide whether to obey or not. With so much faith put in him he felt compelled to carefully consider all the aspects of his plan yet again. He didn't like the responsibility the least bit.

"I need to go to Diagon Alley. Do you think we could synchronise it with the Weasleys?"

'The Weasleys have already completed their shopping. And… I think you should go alone. I would attract far too much attention.'

Harry nodded.

"Do you think tomorrow is agreeable?"

Fawkes gave him the mental equivalent of a nod.

'Go disguised. It is a perfect opportunity to test your skills in action. By the way, how did you proceed with the pensieve?'

Harry sighed again. So that was the reason for Fawkes's visit.

"I've seen things that need a bit of healing. I don't think I'd be able to look into it today. Give me some time… please…"

Fawkes studied his face closely.

'I should have warned you. Albus's memories are darker than you might expect.'

Harry suppressed a bitter laugh. It would have been inappropriate at the moment, but he felt sarcastic about the late warning. The conversation brought out the pictures and emotions he had buried and let him once again relive the experience.

This time he didn't cry, though. It took a lot of self-control, but Fawkes's training had made him stronger in this way. He didn't wish to forget anymore – he didn't want to close his eyes when facing the truth. He could cope with that. One day he would be able to face Dumbledore and look him in the eye, with the knowledge of the crimes the old wizard had committed.

The phoenix watched him for some time, then hung its head, hopped closer and embraced him in its wings. The warmth was welcome, but the elevation not. Harry felt he needed to deal with this, not escape it. If he kept escaping, what would stop him from becoming what Dumbledore once became? What would stop him from torturing and killing Ron or Hermione if they refused to do his bidding because it was against their better judgement?

'I've seen Galahad," he admitted. Fawkes gave him an obsidian gaze filled with regret, pain and guilt.

'It was a mistake on my part to let Albus go on his own. I had very much wanted to trust him… And yet, Galahad was not the only one. There were many like him – before and after that. But this was the only time I know of when Albus killed kin.'

"Oh. But he was- I mean, Galahad…"

'Galahad was a spy, much like Severus. The difference between the two of them was that Galahad joined the Unspeakables with the intention to spy on Grindelwald.'

Harry fell into a contemplative silence, but eventually gathered enough will to voice the idea that seemed to haunt his subconsciousness.

"People worship Dumbledore because he killed Grindelwald. But it could have just as well been Grindewald killing Dumbledore… It would have been just the same."

Fawkes shifted and the warmth around Harry wavered, intermixed with a different emotion – one of the phoenix's own. It was unexpected and unprecedented… the closeness was something Harry had learnt to accept and appreciate, but the alien feeling seemed to seep within his marrow.

'Yes, Harry. And that is where you are so completely different from my last charge.'

popopopopo

Breakfast the next day was a quick affair, and then Harry forced himself to at least fake that he had a warm-up. Half-way through the first lap he changed his mind and went through the entire exercise. Upon returning to the Tower he felt more energetic than when he had been leaving it.

He didn't noticed yeasterday, but Fawkes had dropped a parchment on his bed-side. He found it when absentmindedly reaching for his glasses.

'Honestly… should have figured.'

It was his annual school-letter, though, obviously, lacking the envelope, the address, and the train ticket. Harry wondered whether McGonagall knew that he was going to stay for his seventh year, but then realised it wasn't a question. Of course she knew… He wished he didn't have to, or at least that he was told _why_.

Then again, should a need arise, escaping the school was easy once he shook off Fawkes… Not that he would enjoy doing that. But it was an option, and he was sure it wasn't a bad one. He would be free; maybe even some of his friends would join him… scratch that, Hermione and Ron would kill to join him…

'Maybe they'd have to,' he thought darkly, glowering into the mirror. His reflection's eyes stretched a bit and slanted, his nose shrank and he gained a few years by making his face seem thinner.

Harry grinned, setting his mind on the task before him. His hair shortened in the front and grew long in the back, and then, in a blink of an eye, its colour – as well as the colour of his eyebrows – changed to a brown-reddish. He considered leaving his eyes green, but that would be a provocation, and he yearned to avoid any possible troubles – it was going to be the first time he went out on his own.

In the end, having discoloured his eyes chocolate brown and shifted his scar along his hairline, making it perfectly lost under the coppery-glinting mess he had on his head, he looked… Asian. Not a Harry Potter. Not anyone important. Not recognisable.

For the first time.

Forgetting about the grim prospects of his future for a while, he decided to pretend that it was just a normal trip to Diagon Alley, like those four he had done in the past (he didn't count the first one, because it didn't fit the definition of 'normal'). He transfigured one of Dudley's old T-shirts to fit him and after a while of hesitation decided to add a copy of the picture of Weird Sisters from the poster that hung on the side of Seamus's case. It was not an easy charm, but certainly it was not too difficult. It presented a challenge, though, and Harry found himself willing to spend another twenty minutes on it.

Half an hour later he scrutinised himself in the mirror and contently stated that _no one_ would recognise him like this. It could have caused some troubles in the Gringotts, but fortunately he had yet enough money left in the bag to buy what he needed.

popopopopo

Hagrid had let him out of the gates with the promise to let him back in. Harry in turn promised to send a Patronus ahead.

He was enjoying himself, for once. He could Apparate, which made the journey much easier, and once he arrived nobody stared at him, nobody approached him, and he didn't feel at all hunted. By neither side. The freedom was intoxicating, and he found himself willing to try something new, step into shops he had never visited and talk to people without the hindering lack of anonymity.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Harry looked away from the back side of the window and up at the woman. She didn't smile, but didn't quite frown either and he found himself grateful for the cold professonalism. She must have been a Slytherin once; he was starting to consider that an advantage by his business partners.

"I have a list of things I would like to purchase. Do you have all these?"

He handed her a parchment with a careful mixture of the ingredients he needed for Potions and those for Lucretia's Vengeance. Even if she had heard of the brew, she wouldn't make out what he was up to. Not that she would be likely to try and figure it out – after all, he was just a random customer this time.

"It will take a while; I'll have to bring the runespoor scales from the stock. Feel free to select the herbage in the meantime."

She left through the door in the back of the room and Harry approached the huge shelf with glasses. Then he realised she had taken the list with her. Having to remember all he needed it went slowly – he was in the process of bottling the _Michelia_ when she returned. The scales seemed an average quality, but it was good enough for him.

"It would be twenty and seventeen, plus three times fifty-seven plus… oh, forty-eight times seven – twenty-one Galleons, one Sickle and two Knuts… make that twenty-one Galleons and three Sickles and I'll pack it for you."

Harry nodded glumly, amazed by how quickly she could count it, watching her expertly wrap jar after jar in anti-cracking bags and setting them one by one into his Weight-Lifting Backpack. It would have been too much to carry without Hermione's brilliant gift; now he was glad they had planned to escape, and not only because of one of the best parties he had ever attended… The woman had thin hands with long fingers – quite like those he had seen when he awoke after drinking the tea with the _Allaboszorkany Por_(7). Hands of a Potioneer… Vivax had hands like that, only little more muscular. Strong, as he supposed hands of an Auror would be.

'Wonder what I'll be doing after finishing school… in the case I do Voldemort in…'

"Thank you, Ma'am," he said when she handed him the Backpack, apparently unsurprised by its lack of weight.

"Come back again," she responded, with the interest of a shop-keeper advertising his business. Harry decided he liked this place better than the Apothecary up the street. This woman – Ms Carrow, according to the plate in one of the windows – was faster, less verbose, and had the shop better organised.

As he glanced back at the name, a large man that was walking down the half-empty street in the opposite direction growled and violently pushed Harry into the wall as he passed. He staggered, but kept his balance, and looked up. The brute was simply walking away, not giving his victim a single glance, but growling again instead.

"What's your problem?" Harry snapped at the meaty back, clad in an expensive velvet coat despite the heat. The man stopped and he belatedly realised it might not have been the cleverest thing to say.

He turned around and Harry found himself staring at an aristocratic face filled with fury. Dark blue eyes blazed with anger when the man spoke.

"You."

'Damn. So much for staying low… Fawkes is going to put me through another of _those_ speeches… complete with something sticky…'

He frowned, both inwardly and outwardly, and the man sneered.

"You and your lot, going around as if the place belonged to you… Filthy Chinesse infestation…" Harry gulped, thinking that he looked more Japanesse, but not suicidal enough to argue. He realised he had forgotten to greet. Too late now.

"What do you want?" he inconspicuously Accioed his wand into his hand. The man's gaze never left his face, but Harry noticed him reaching inside the heavy coat. He gulped.

"I'll have to bath myself now, being touched by the filth- _Scru_-"

"You don't want to be doing that."

Harry blinked. He had peripherally noticed someone approaching, but he had been concentrating on the immediate enemy, disregarding the presence as unimportant. Well, it turned out it was someone stupid or powerful enough to attempt to stand up for a young man of a different race.

A _boy_ that could have been the same age as himself or younger stood a step away from the aristocratic bully, with empty hands (one of them put on the man's wrist). The next thing after the age that surprised Harry was that while he seemed properly nourished, his brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he wore an expensive black robe, that robe was much too long for him. Its edges were dirty with dust and earth, dragging on the road behind himself.

Their eyes met for a second and Harry couldn't believe how calm the boy was. As if it was perfectly normal to meet a moneybags harassing an Eastern kid. As if it was perfectly easy and without any possible consequences to stop that man… Those eyes were hazel. Not exactly twinkling, but glimmering.

"Don't you say," barked the man, freed his arm with a jerk and brought out his wand.

"_Expell_-"

Harry's spell was stopped before he had even completed it. The man smirked self-consciously.

"_Exp_-"

Harry paled. There was a jinx aimed in his direction, and he had no idea _what_ it was. He ducked…

…but it turned out unnecessary. The brown-haired boy had put up a block without even getting his wand in sight. Harry's eyes widened.

'Is he so much better than me? At that age? Why me, then? Why didn't Fawkes foster somebody with _such_ skill?'

"_Cruxoppress_-" muttered the man, this time aiming for the other boy rather than Harry. The spell met another shield and was reflected into the air, taking off the top of the rich man's hat with a sizzle. Harry stood perplexed – he couldn't think of what to do, other than try another Expelliarmus…

"_Condi Extemplo_," said the boy and immediatelly frowned, as though berating himself. The aristocrat's wand left his hand and Harry had a distinct feeling he had managed a half-intentional wordless Disarming Hex… The boy looked angry with himself, despite having done nothing wrong, nothing other than self-defense to be exact, and that spell didn't sound like dark magic.

'Well, maybe it does a little…' thought Harry, watching the cracked cobbled stone around the shredded fancy boots… But it was in fact making things grow, not destroying them… anyway, he was sure he had heard of the spell before, just never learnt it or researched it.

"Are you injured?" the boy asked flatly. Harry shook his head. "That was incredibly stupid. Get out of their way if you can't handle them." He gave the stunned, rooted, weaponless man an appraising scrutiny, then shrugged, and squeezed past Harry.

"Wait!"

He _did_ halt, but looked back with such annoyance that Harry had to fight to voice his next sentence.

"Thanks for the help. Can I… buy you an ice-cream?"

The boy sighed, closed his eyes, opened them again, and with forced patience looked back at Harry.

"I don't have time. Be off, and watch who is it, whose nerves you are grating on. _Farewell_."

Harry was lost for words, staring after his rescuer long after the door to Ms Carrow's shop closed after him. He considered going back and inquiring more about the identity of the boy, but then he realised that he might be asked for his own identity. Eventually he gave up and went back to the more frequent part of the Alley to visit Flourish and Blott's.

popopopopo

'How did your errand go?'

Harry looked up from the cauldron and shrugged. He didn't feel like admitting that he was harassed, stirred up a commotion, and ended having his neck saved by a queer kid with ill temper, whose powers were incomparably greater or better developed than his own.

"I wasn't recognised," he said aloud, trying to make himself believe it was the answer the phoenix wished to hear. It was pretty close, anyway. And it was the truth – not even Hagrid wanted to believe it was him at first. In the end they hadn't spent too much time together – the half-giant was hurrying back to his cottage to supervise hatching of the new generation of fire-newts.

He Occluded his mind permanently now, so it wasn't suspicious, but he felt uneasy picturing how Fawkes might react were he to find out about the confrontation. Plus, there was another thing that bothered him afer he had time to think about it – he had never seen the boy before. _He_ had never been attending Hogwarts… finally he settled wih the idea that _he_ had been tutored privately, which might also explain the difference in the level of skill between them.

'That does calm me. Did you find everything you need?'

"Yes. Well… everything but the Periodically Vanishing Ink, but I guess Slughorn wouldn't have gotten the joke anyway," Harry said lightly and didn't mention that creating such ink was the question of three quick spells.

Fawkes seemed torn between amusement and reproaching, but eventually decided that since Harry had not actually done anything, there was no need to chastise him. He watched the preparation of ingredients quietly, not daring to disturb the much needed concentration, for which Harry was grateful – Lucretia's Vengeance took less than a day to brew, but otherwise it was a much more complicated concoction than the Polyjuice Potion.

"I've got time now. It's going to simmer for a while," he said after adding the thin stripes of Bowtruckle skin. They immediatelly dissolved with a low hiss. Harry gulped, took off his gloves and wiped his sweaty hands. Then he put the gloves on again, and went over to the opposite counter to sort the scales.

'It took me a rather long time to locate you, fledgeling.'

Harry set two bowls in front of him and nodded.

"I know. Sorry. But I don't have access to Slughorn's lab and this is the next best thing."

'I uderstand. I am not berating you."

The scales were better than Harry had thought at first. Only about one fifth of them was peccant; those went directly into a separate bin – they weren't safe to dispose of just as they weren't safe to touch. The good ones were further sorted by colour – black into the right bowl, orange into the left. Harry felt a bit like Cinderella, but it was a relaxing activity.

'Do white wizards often hate wizards of other races?' Harry asked just as Fawkes was about to speak. 'Sorry. What did you want to say?'

'Not often. Sometimes it happens, but its not quite as frequent as discrimination based on blood-purity. At least in the last few centuries… Why do you ask?'

'I had a… friend who was Chinesse,' he muttered, immediately reminded of Cho. 'I wonder if they perhaps sometimes treated _her_ badly.'

Fawkes shook his head.

'I doubt that. Though… Children are often cruel.'

Harry nodded and stepped up to the cauldron to extinguish the fire. The potion had to cool before he could add the scales, otherwise they would be scorched and wouldn't melt properly. He shuddered, thinking of how aggressive the concoction already was, and how aggressive it was going to be when mixed with the de-crystalised poison from the runespoor scales.

"Fawkes?" Harry asked quietly when the phoenix didn't make a sound for a while. He looked up and found it watching him.

'I wanted to know whether you are making the potion. It seems that you are; and it seems you are doing it carefully enough. I have faith in you. Do try and not disappoint me, alright?'

Harry smiled.

"I will."

'Do you think you could use the pensieve again today?' asked the bird with a series of chirps. Harry's smile wavered, but he acquiesced. He needed to know all that he could learn about Voldemort, Dumbledore, the Order, and its members – including Snape – before he went on the hunt. A suspicion crept into his mind.

"Can we make a deal about it?"

'I hoped that our relationship was past that point.'

Harry frowned, but reached out to stroke Fawkes's neck gently.

"I didn't mean it like that. Just… when I go through this obediently – well, more or less at least-"

'I do not dispute that you do.'

"I thought you could tell me at least why do I have to stay." Though he had an idea now. What happened to him in the Diagon Alley was illustrative enough.

'I didn't realise you were wondering so much.' Harry received the mental image of the bird scratching the back of its head with its wing. He burst in laugh. Fawkes seemed content to see his glum expression disappear.

"I can tell you that anytime."

popopopopo

(7)The substance that triggers the first stage of becoming an Animagus. I guess you all figured, though…


	15. Lucretia

A/N: Thank you all my wonderful reviewers!  
Here's another chapter, especially for you… and a bit for me, too, though I don't like it all that much. It's sort of… shallow. Forgive me. I'll try harder.  
I hope you'll enjoy it anyway…  
Btw, there's some new stuff that isn't mine… actually it's mostly paraphrased, but just in case…  
Brynn

Chapter 15: Lucretia

'You won't like to hear this, I know that. But I wouldn't lie to you, Harry, and I know you are aware of it. It's my responsibility and I have to ensure that you will be able to face the _Death Eaters_ when you encounter them. Yet-'

"I am not," Harry supplied calmly. He could tell he had startled Fawkes, not by interrupting his speech, but by actually not arguing. He _was_ hot-headed, looking back at his past reactions, but not as stupid as to object to the accusation of lack of skill. Especially after he had seen a kid that didn't look older than fifteen outperform him by far with such unnerving ease… although that wasn't an information he would like the phoenix to acquire.

"I know. I've noticed… I…" he sighed. "Fawkes, the school isn't going to help me. It never did. I don't know who's going to teach the Defense this year, but there's no chance I could learn enough in the class. If we had Remus, and I got 'remedials', maybe, but…" he sighed again and sat down on the cushion that conveniently turned up for him. The Room of Requirement even had a few advantages to the Potions laboratory.

'We'll _remedy_ that. Trust me. Albus's reason is that he wants you out of the game for the time being, but I insisted that you stay in school for your own safety _and_ to buy you time to learn. I'm already working on it… It's a bit hard with my communication barriers. If you have any new ideas, tell me- The newspaper is getting into motion, by the way.'

"Fawkes… I… don't know if I can make it. I don't know if I was the right choice for your charge." He was thinking of the hazel-eyed boy, feeling a hint of jealousy towards him.

'Hmm… but you were _my_ choice. So don't let it bother you, alright?' the phoenix replied calmly, strangely reminiscent of the living Dumbledore, 'And besides, the Death Eaters are more afraid of you than of a squad of Aurors.'

Harry couldn't find it in himself to enjoy Fawkes's humor. He was grateful for the continuously expressed trust, but the true reason _why_ Death Eaters weren't scared of Aurors was the fact that the Ministry did nothing purposeful at all. He doubted the Magical Law Enforcement even met _any_ dark wizards nowadays but those the Ministry employed.

'…my little Death Cook.'

Harry gaped, suddenly worried about the phoenix. Could such a creature get mad? Or was it some kind of a joke he wasn't old enough to understand?

"_Death Cook_?"

Fawkes gave a low, _not quite articulate_ screech and pecked on muesli on a very wide, very flat plate that the Room provided for him.

'The Dark Lords generally do not have much imagination when it comes to names… And yet, 'Death Eaters' was not Tom's idea. Still I think it's one of the worst I've ever heard…'

This time Harry did laugh. He was getting into the mood as his worries dissipated. Fawkes wouldn't give him up for a strange kid. He was not only the phoenix's charge – he was its foster-hatch.

"Whose idea it was then?"

'You have three guesses.'

Harry scratched his head, forgetting that his hands were still gloved. He pulled the dragon-hide monstrosities off and ditched them onto the empty armchair.

"Lucius Malfoy," he guessed, trying to think of a person that would have enough inflence to get the name to be accepted.

'Hardly started school when the first were already gathered.'

"Ah. Then his dad? What was his name…" Harry knew he had heard it already… Malfoy had bragged about his grandfather to Slughorn. The man died on pox or something… Indubitably after he had raised his son to be a vile malicious stavesacre.

'Abraxas. Closer.'

Closer? Did it mean he had the correct generation? But he had no idea when the old Malfoy was born. Or what did he do (apart from bribing and murdering) before he died on the pox… So he decided to try it the other way. Who did he know who was ancient, had to do with Voldemort, and posessed a sick sense of humour…

"Oh, sure. A Dumbledore… Albus Dumbledore-"

'Almost!' Fawkes exclaimed, beating his wings. The muesli flew across the room and made a worse mess than twenty students practising Stunners. Harry was glad he had just in case erected a shield around the cauldron, although he doubted that a few bits of cereals would anyhow harm the brew.

'Well, at least Albus claims the idea was Aberfoth's. He said… actually he quoted some Muggle about a 'Tree of reason' that transforms immoral thoughts into moral actions by explaining the guilt away. And since they secretly wanted 'the Wrong' and listen to the persuasion of its support, they were going to eat death…

I personally think that 'Knights of Walpurgis'(8) had a better ring to it. It was their choice… I'm afraid, though, that they got the idea with eating death reversed.'

"Are they so much alike? Albus and Aberforth, I mean," Harry asked with an air of hopelessness that he didn't quite feel. It seemed to amuse the phoenix greatly.

'Yes. And no. You will find out on your own. Now… how long does this potion not require your presence?'

"An hour, maybe hour and half."

'Kapai,' stated Fawkes and unexpectedly landed on Harry's forearm. The boy had to catch on the closest cabinet to avoid falling over. With a flash they were gone.

popopopopo

"You could have at least warned me," reproached Harry dryly, sitting down on the side of his bed and pulling the pensieve closer.

'You should get used to unpleasant surprised. Besides, you handled it well.'

This time Harry selected a different memory, trying to come up with something that would feature Snape, but wouldn't make him too angry with either the man, or himself, or Dumbledore.

'Do you want my assistence?' asked Fawkes, watching Harry contemplate.

'Your presence. Like the last time…'

'I am here for you.'

Harry nodded gratefully and put the tip of his wand to his temple. A silver thread of memory followed its motion as he drew it towards the basin – it was the finishing exam in his first year. It seemed quite safe in the anger part, as he was sure that Snape had not harassed him back there – he would have recalled that even through the haze he had been walking in as July 1991 drew nearer.

popopopopo

Harry never thought anything like this could ever happen to him. The exam was too long, so he didn't take to watch his younger self blotching the unbelievably easy Boils-curing Potion(9). He _had to_ admit Malfoy did a rather decent job stewing the slugs, but it was most likely thanks to Bulstrode, who kept nudging him while he spent too much time watching Neville and counting seconds to the explosion. Precisely that awaited explosion followed right after, and Parkinson burst in a fit of shril giggles that made Harry's ears sting, so he tried to get as far away from her as possible. He passed poor Neville through the remains of his desk and cauldron.

"Not root! The haulm, you idiotic donk!" Harry slapped his forehead and with exasperation watched his younger self add the incorrect ingredient and effectively destroy the potion he had been working on. "Good Merlin… the root contains too much acid. It reacts with the powdered snake fangs and creates small nodulations. It's useless." He took a step to the right, unless he would end up standing at the same spot as Snape. He wouldn't have enjoyed that.

"Yeah, just tell me I'm an incompetent idiot. Cause I was."

popopopopo

'How did it go?'

Harry shrugged.

"It's alright. Though my absolute and unrivalled fallingshort wasn't nice to watch…"

'Harry…'

"Sorry. I jus don't like admitting that _he_ might have been right… The truth is I was the _second_ to blotch the potion, so I _did_ have a rival. On the other hand, it was Neville, so I'm not sure whether it counts…"

Fawkes descended on his thigh and in a swirl of feather they appeared in a completely different place. Harry saw nothing, being blinded by the sudden lack of light. He paused for a while, and eventually the outlines came into vision. The room seemed vaguely familiar to him…

"Kitchens?"

'Yes. I figured you might like a cup of hot chocolate.'

A torch flickered to light and a single steaming mug appeared on the closest table. Harry eyed it suspiciously, but eventually complied and sat down, took the mug in hands and, instead of blowing across it chanelled his magic through his fingeres, casting a tender Cooling Charm.

'I understand that you don't like these… recollections, and I appreciate that you are viewing them all the more.'

'I already said I agreed with him. Is there more I have to find out?' he thought unhappily, and was rewarded with the sensation of walking through a spider web. He reflexively attempted to wipe his face, but only managed to get the thing inside his mouth. It tasted like licking a never-wiped floor in a forgotten attic.

'This is the point – do you think I'm insisting on it to torment you? Harry, you never bothered to see the things from Severus's point of view. You both were so prejudiced against each other since your first meeting that it never even crossed your mind that the other might be right. I just-'

"Want me to look at the past six years objectively. I know." The disciplinary-sensation disappeared. Harry sighed. "After the trip to Diagon Alley I… guess I really need it."

'I wonder what happened there…'

Harry didn't feel like telling Fawkes the truth. And Fawkes, to his mild surprise, looked like he wasn't going to pry.

'I witnessed something that made me realise I didn't know as much about the people I'm fighting against. Nor about those I am supposed to fight with. And… I found a shocking limitation to my abilities.'

The phoenix's smile warmed Harry a bit. It seemed that he had told enough.

'Are you willing to learn?'

'_Willing_!'

Fawkes laughed and, as always, it sent a wave of bliss through Harry's veins.

'Then it is alright. Keep your side of the _deal_, I'll keep mine. Take care of yourself, fledgling; I'm going to shedule your interview.' In another flash of light the bird was gone. Harry sighed as the torch immediately went out and he remained sitting in a complete darkness. Not even house-elves spent their time in there during the summer. He pictured a meadow filled with small square tents and an army of elves clad in scout outfits scurrying around… It didn't look too probable. Likely they just spent more time in different parts of the castle.

He stood up and, not bothering to make light again, paced to the exit, abandoning the empty mug where he had found it. The same elf that had prepared it was going to take care of it anyway.

'You couldn't bring me back upstairs before clearing off, could you…' he thought without real scorn. Despite watching the memory before, the chat with Fawkes left him full of energy and in positive mood, and he had an important thing to take care of.

popopopopo

Picking the scales from he bowl one by one while he was wearing gloves turned out to be harder than expected. In the end Harry resigned and moved each sole vividly orange polycrystal into the grey substance separately using a wandless Wingardium Leviosa. At the same time it was an experiment of sorts; he promised himself to work on wordless and wandless magic under the impression of the encounter in Diagon Alley. Right now he was trying to determine how far he had gotten with the simpler spells.

He surprised himself with the accuracy of those charms; more so that it worked by every of circa sixty scales, although he was rather tired after the last ones landed in the cauldron. He had not expected such break-through since the beginning of the holiday. Retrospectively, had he tried to hex the man who had harassed him without words, he might have been successful…

"Looks good, what do you think?" he asked of Hedwig, who had dropped in to remind him of herself, most likely jealous of Fawkes, and stood a bottle of the potion on the windowsill for it to catch the last rays of sunlight. It wasn't written in the instructions, but he had seen other potions that used almost the same ingredients and they were supposed to ripen faster when put in sunlight.

The bird eyed the purple concoction uneasily and then looked at Harry with accusation. He shrugged.

"If you don't like it… Will you go flying for the night? I'll keep the window open if you needed anything. Or fly to Owlery. As you wish. I don't mind."

Hedwig hooted and he let her out, having carefully scooped the potion out of the way before doing so. He knew it wasn't the nicest thing to brew, and what he was going to do next might be considered a betrayal in a way, but the pros outdid the cons.

Darkness fell on the land and he didn't even notice, buried in a stack of texts he had brought from the library. Pince was going to return the next day and he decided to get his mess out of her sight in advance. He even bothered to fill out the forms for those books. Studying was going to get harder and less enjoyable with his classmates around… He intended to do as much work as he could _now_ – he went as far as to start (and finish) a few essays in advance, feeling he was worse than Hermione… He decided to use as excuse that there was going to be much more learning for him this year, apart from school. It worked. Sort of.

When the alarm-clock set on eleven thirty rang, he was in the middle of writing the conclusion to the first Potions Essay. It was an interesting topic and he found himself enjoying the odd information he had stumbled upon while looking for usable facts. Like that porcupine quills were much more potent crushed than added in one piece. He shuddered thinking how would their first Potions lesson go if Neville had added the quills crushed… His approximation was that about six people would have to spend the night in the hospital wing, having their skin re-grown.

It was quarter to twelve when he finally stood up and went to wash his hands. For a good measure he decided to wear the Diagon Alley-disguise. The portraits of former Heads knew him and he didn't doubt McGonagall would have him feel the skin re-growing on his own body if she ever found out about this stunt… Fortunately, she had a week off her duties to spend with her family – most deserved, in his opinion. She won a war against the Ministry, after all.

So it was an Asian Weird-Sisters-fan clutching a bottle of super-acidic concoction in his hand who snuck through the hallways of Hogwarts at midnight. He slipped through the secret passage and glared at the gargoyle. It glared back and shifted – it was the first time Harry saw it moving without receiving the password. The fact that it prepared to jump didn't make the situation less uncomfortable.

"Johny Walker," he said. The stony beast quailed and reluctantly stepped aside – Harry hoped that McGonagall would switch to something non-alcoholic during terms. The staircase didn't move, and he had no desire to make it move. He glid up into the Tower. It was as quiet as a grave – Harry didn't like the parallel, but it was fitting. The office was a tomb where the former – dead – Heads of Hogwarts rested…

And rest they did. He slid the door ajar and listened to the regular breathing and occassional snore. Now it paradoxically didn't seem so dead anymore.

He stuck his wand into the gape and muttered an incantation. It sent an invisible ripple of air in the form of an expanding sphere. Obviously the wards were changed again since McGonagall took over the Headmastership, because last time Harry checked _he_ wasn't the Headmaster. It shouldn't have worked, but he certainly didn't object, even though it made his disguise useless.

He pushed the door wide open and went inside. The fires in the lamps blazed white and the room bathed in light. Headmistress's desk was a mess, covered with papers, parchments, Reminder-Bugs and – predictably – muesli. All of the portraits –including Nigellus – were sleeping.

'It's better this way. I bet it would hurt terribly were he to experience this consciously…' The portrait was a stuck-up git and always had it in for Harry, but he couldn't bear even a vision of people writhing in pain.

According to Rayburn, who was nowhere near as good as Vivax when it came to writing, 'Lucretia' wouldn't harm stone. Keeping this in mind, Harry pulled Nigellus's painting off the wall and laid it in the hearth on the cold ashes, which house-elves had failed to remove. The wizard continued slumbering peacefully. Harry's heart clenched; his breathing quickened as he held the bottle above the picture…

'He wants it. He's going to pay for it…' Harry bit his lip, clenched the wand in his left fist and took a deep breath.

"_Esrednet Raicapse Ralbodsed Ricrapse_…" he chanted through clenched teeth. The potion he poured out of the thin neck of the bottle landed equally distributed throughout the entire surface of the painting and frame. The wizard jerked and opened his mouth in a soundless scream. Harry pulled his hand back, staring at the dissolving picture and biting his lip much harder than he did a while ago. He was shaking; goosebumps sprang on his body, and he felt physically sick.

"_Evanesco_," he said, pointing at the bottle with the rest of 'Lucretia' in his hand. Nothing happened. Harry watched the colourful residue of the potion destroy the ashes and sink into the stone. As soon as there was nothing left of the portrait, he practically ran out, slammed the door, released the Sleeping Spell and set off down the stairs.

The gargoyle eyed him suspiciously as he passed it, but did nothing to stop him. Harry ran through the passages, out of breath, but not going to be sick anymore. He had done it. He had held up his end of… the… deal…

It was back in the bedroom when he realised he was still holding the bottle. Disgusted, he aimed his wand at it again.

"_Evanesco_."

This time it disappeared instantly. He had about enough energy left to hide the clothes away in his trunk, and – half-naked – fell into his bed. Curled up in a ball, he quietly cried, still failing to understand _why_. What was it that made him so weak? What made him so depressed about destroying an ordinary painting?

popopopopo

"Potter."

Hearing the voice Harry almost shuddered, but he couldn't afford to show his weakness in front of the man.

"Good evening, _Mr_ Nigellus," he responded coldly, his voice echoing in the vast trophy room, "Were you in the Head's office in the last twenty-four hours?"

The winner of the Duelling Tournament snickered.

"Quite an uproar there, isn't it?"

"Did they actually manage to stir up a commotion?" Harry asked, referring to the rest of the portraits. They seemed to have been missing one of them…

"They argued a lot. Finally they decided that, since I was 'reluctant about accomplishing my tasks anyway', my 'disappearance' would be reported as soon as possible… which turned out to be as soon as Dumbledore came to check up on them. About an hour ago."

"And?"

The portrait waved his hand dismissively and gave Harry an appraising scrutiny from the poster.

"You have surprised me. There wasn't much to report, really. I disappeared at midnight. Everyone slept; no one noticed a thing…" he snickered again, showing a row of pearly teeth, "A well done job, indeed."

"I expect the clearance," Harry stated flatly. Nigellus earnestly nodded.

"The library is on Blueberry Road 317, Golden Selasphore, Lancashire. Second floor in the Western Wing. Your access is granted; the password to the site is 'God did not blame the Serpent', to the main gate 'I walk in on my own free will'. The entryway to the library itself is guarded by a portrait who will let you in when she recognises you."

Harry wished he could write it down, but since the deal wasn't all that official, writing it would not be a good idea, especially with his roommates going to return in a few days time. He worked hard to remember it. Having to ask Nigellus for the address repeatedly would be humiliating.

"Are there any vampires?" he inquired. The second password sounded _very_ suspicious.

"Not for a few generations. Shall some turn up, you will be warned _before_ you go in."

Harry nodded.

"That is acceptable. It is pleasure doing business with you, Mr Nigellus."

"Likewise, Mr Potter," the portrait sneered and left, probably to escape the duty of polite conversation. Harry didn't mind in the least, fed up with the man, fed up with acting courteously, and fed up with lying.

"_Nox_," he muttered and went to sleep after another uneventful day. He hoped that if they didn't catch him by now – twenty-four hours after the crime – it meant they weren't going to catch him at all.

Still he didn't feel better with himself. The guilt was eating up on him from inside and he had no idea what to do to free himself of it. He had done lot of bad things in the past, _attempted Unforgivables _on various occassions, but the only times he felt ill like this was in the presence of dementors, when Sirius died, when Dumbledore died, and when he had almost killed Malfoy.


	16. Hogwarts

A/N: Took me long, I know. I have another project, and this story is just… on the side, I suppose. I still don't want to abandon it, but the updates will be far between so please, bear with me. Thanks a lot, and especially to these who _did_ and those who _will_ review.  
Brynn

Chapter 16: Hogwarts

On Monday Harry awoke on edge. By the time of lunch he was fighting depression. Quite like in the beginning of the holiday the castle felt _wrong_ when it was empty, now it felt _wrong_ because the house-elves, ghosts and members of staff frequented the hallways. There was even a meal in the Great Hall.

Harry fought himself, but in the end lost and decided to rather ask Dobby to bring him some food to the common room. He busied himself with Potions and some related Herbology, because the library was now supervised and he couldn't quite well check out a book on Dark Arts. It didn't add to his better mood, but at least the interesting topic calmed him.

He was already completing the third essay of the day – he was getting faster at writing them – when Fawkes zoomed in, uncharacteristically through the window.

"Morning," he said dutifully, though with far less attention paid to the visit than would be appropriate. Fawkes didn't express any kind of displeasure, though Harry could virtually feel the growing concern.

'It is already afternoon – how are you doing?'

Harry shrugged and put his name in the upper corner of the parchment.

"Not sure. I've been keeping myself busy to avoid thinking."

Fawkes hopped across the low tea-table, considerately avoiding stepping on the essay. Harry rolled it and packed it away with the others. The number of his finished not-yet-assigned tasks was steadily rising, and he was looking forward to the evenings he could spend playing Quidditch or doing anything fun, rather than fighting homework.

'You've been working yourself too hard, Harry. This was supposed to be holiday-'

'It was the best holiday I've had, trust me.' Even in his negative vein he considered the past two months the ideal break. As long as it featured no Dursleys… and no Voldemort.

'That does not make me feel better about it. Worse, if anything…'

Harry stood up from the work. With a series of muttered charms he tidied the mess and levitated all his things upstairs to the bedroom. He dumped it on his bed and closed the curtains, not exactly eager to try and explain to Ron why he found Potions interesting enough to work on without having to.

'You've come to persuade me to go to the Great Hall, have you.'

'Not necessarily. I'd like you to, and to make a first impression – things have changed, and I'd like the staff to notice that time will come when they would have to learn to listen to you. But for now-'

Harry rubbed the root of his nose to suppress the threatening headache and opened the curtains again. This seemed to be the prelude to a longer conversation; he could do something useful while pointlessly trying to argue with the phoenix. Tidying up was less tedious than ever before, because he could do a lot of things easier and faster using magic, and he cleaned often (every time he had five spare minutes with nothing better to do).

'Did I do something _wrong_?' he asked directly. Fawkes gave him a searching, quizzical glance from his spot on Dean's desk.

'Did you?'

Harry rubbed his forehead, but the headache lingered too far for him to reach. He could have tried to deny it. Fawkes would take his word. He could have even tried to deny it to himself, but… denial was futile.

He looked into those black eyes gazing at him, unsure about what to do. Fawkes could very easily punish him, or take away some of his privileges, or, in the worst case, refuse to help him, once he found out about what he did with Lucretia's Vengeance. On the other hand, Fawkes never abandoned Dumbledore, despite all the 'stunts', all the wrong-doings and crimes the old wizard committed… Harry certainly could hope for forgiveness.

'Yes.'

He sank on his bed, glad that he had made space for himself. The pile of rolls from his bedside mocked him – Harry Potter, The Swot. Fawkes glid across the room and landed on his lap.

'Tell me.'

Warmth engulfed Harry and he felt easier, not the Imperius-kind easy – he didn't forget the consequences of his actions, he also didn't feel like nothing mattered or that everything was alright – but a reassurance that no matter what happened, they would work it out. The kind of reassurance he always pictured his parents might have given him if they hadn't died.

"I used the potion. I destroyed Nigellus's portait."

'Ah, so that's what happened to it.' Fawkes gave the startled boy he was using as a perch a mental eqivalent of a smile. 'I must admit that you have executed it smoothly. Not even Albus suspects it was you. Needless to say his lack of knowledge about this case drives him crazy…'

Harry smiled back, entangling his fingers in Fawkes's feather. It was a strange feeling – silky, warm, and so… alive. How could such a powerful, such a perfect creature be so fragile? So normal? So… natural?

'I merely couldn't figure out what might have motivated you.'

It seemed easy to answer. Harry knew it probably would be looked upon as infelicitous, but right now, sitting together in his bedroom and discusing his scheming of a _crime_, they were conspirators rather than a tutor and a charge.

'Nigellus contacted me and offered a bargain. I was to destroy the painting so he would be free od serving the current Headmaster…'

'That worked. I dare say Phineas won't ever be 'bothered' again. It is a pity, though. He used to have very rational opinions.'

'I suppose. At least it seemed so when I was handling with him. A bit rude- er, straightforward… but definitely rational.' He, of all people, was complimenting a Slytherin, moreover one who disliked him greatly. At the same time as he was criticising him for the few traits they had in common…

'So? What did you get in return? Was it worth it? Knowing you, I guess it was…'

'It seemed so before. Now… I'm no sure anymore…'

'Are you having compunctions?' asked the bird and Harry realised it really did know him. It wasn't a surprise, it had been teaching him Occlumency after all, but it still felt unfamiliar.

'N-not exactly. Not consciously, anyway.' He paused, searching for words to describe what it was he felt. Fawkes shifted his weight, leaning against Harry's chest. He was heavier than Harry recalled – persumably capable of changing some of his physical attributes at will.

'You… good spirits… Harry, let me inside your mind for a bit.'

He took about two seconds to bethink it, but there really wasn't anything he felt he should hide from Fawkes. He lowered his shields one by one, careful not to swarm the phoenix in his personality as a shock. He had done that once before – though not delibarately – and watching Fawkes recover wasn't nice.

'Oh…' exclaimed the phoenix, touching the threads that wrapped Harry's consciousness. It surprised the boy, but Fawkes didn't delve deeper, although he most certainly could, and Harry wouldn't have minded. He treasured the fairness as well as the faith. Then Fawkes's mental presence retreated and he was 'gestured' to rebuild the shields that had already become an inseparable part of his daily routine.

'This is a _natural_ reaction to the potion you have used, fledgeling.'

'But… I kept my hands gloved all the time… It shouldn't have effected me…' Harry objected, worried that he had done something stupid while working with an extremely dangerous concontion.

'You couldn't have prevented this. It is a… an allergy, so to say. Don't try to brew or use the potion again. There are many supplements for it, not quite as effective, but far less damaging to the creator.' The tip of Fawkes's wing brushed Harry's face and he felt the headache recede considerably. 'It will yet take some time before it goes away completely, but it will heal. Don't worry –in fact, the more you worry, the slower this will mend… so, what is it you got in return for Phineas's freedom?'

Harry, baffled by the sudden change of topic, forwent questioning Fawkes about 'magical allergies' in favour of answering.

'Access to a Dark Arts library… I can't quite well study _that_ under Pince's nose and there isn't Dumbledore to allow me an exception anymore… and I can't picture McGonagal conceding to something of the sort-'

'You don't have to apologise for that, fledgling,' the phoenix cut off his rant, 'Now, since you're feeling better, put on some better clothes of yours – not a uniform yet, until today evening you are a free person – and get your butt down to the Great Hall. You've got an appearance to keep. See you.'

In a flash it was gone and Harry sorely missed the weight lifted from his legs. In a half-awake state of mind he walked around the room and collected the few pieces of clothing that escaped him before. There wasn't much to choose from, and in the end he had to Scourgify one of those transigured outfits. He felt tempted to wear the Weird Sisters T-shirt, but the reason won in the end. He would yet find use for it in the future.

popopopopo

The lunch was far worse than Harry expected and he had retreated soon after it, sulking, wishing he hadn't gone at all. It did him no good – he didn't even find out who the two new teachers were, as neither of them was present. The only information he acquired during the tedious hour was McGonagall's motivation to fight for the re-opening of the school – "Albus _wouldn't_ have wished for Hogwarts to close…" – and that only because the conversation was left to her.

He heard the _whoosh_ of Fawkes's arrival behind himself, and mentally acknowledged the phoenix, though without reducing his concentration on the writing.

'I have just had the most curious experience: I saw McGonagall berating her colleagues about how they treated you.'

'Mhm,' Harry answered noncommitally. Adding to the Headmistress's stress and disrupting the inter-staff relationships before the term even started didn't make him proud of himself at all. He thought he had done quite well, but now he felt guilty about it – even though it wasn't entirely his fault. _They_ had made him feel unwelcome. Still, he hadn't intended for McGonagall to suffer the retribution.

'Is something wrong, Harry? Has your headache returned?'

He shook his head and started copying the list of ingredients for the _Muse Nectar_, a potion that was supposed to make to the drinker talented – a potion that was number four on the curriculum (which he shouldn't have seen yet, but things happen in an abandoned castle…).

'Harry, you're scaring me.'

He looked up and belatedly realised that in his depression he had morphed… into something. It was a strange feeling. He was not completely human for a while… he shuddered and returned to his normal appearance. Fawkes ruffled his feather, but generally relaxed slightly.

"Sorry…" Harry mumbled and faced the essay. It was harder than Polyjuice, but he supposed that nowhere near Felix. And Hermione had managed to brew Felix…

"I'd like to look for some old students' books that remained in school."

'What happened down there?' Fawkes asked undeterred, refusing to change the topic. Harry sighed, leant back, and closed his eyes. He saw Albus Dumbledore's face when he had told him there was nothing he wanted to tell him… and his face when Galahad had told him that the Unspeakables didn't speak… It seemed perfectly unfair to compare himself to the wizard. The only thing they had in common was that they had stepped on Albus's toes.

'I don't… I hate lying.'

'You-'

'Have to lie to survive. I know. But it still doesn't mean I like it.'

'Severus didn't like it either…'

'That was a way to end conversation,' Harry replied dryly and wrote another word. The sentence was unwilling to be completed… He frowned, both at the parchment and at the bird. The world conspired against him.

Fawkes gave the mental equivalent of a very painful sigh and landed on Harry's desk next to the essay.

'Five hours until the train arrives. Go sleep, fledgling.'

'I-'

'Now.'

Not feeling strong enough to fight, Harry obediently arose, chucked his shirt into the corner of the case, and clad only in the trousers fell among the sheets. The sun shone right into his eyes, but he took care of it with a wave of his wand towards he curtains. They closed, albeit jerkily.

'I'll wake you up.'

Fawkes didn't baby him – with a flash he appeared above Harry _inside_ the four-poster, landed on his side, and spread the wonderful shiny wings, cramped in the closed space. The world went dark almost immediately, wiped out by the hypnotic actuation of the phoenix's mind.

popopopopo

'Harry…'

He groaned and moved his hands, but stubbornly refused to open his eyes. Something wiry but strong dug into the side of his belly uncompromisingly and elicited a gasp from him. As consciousness claimed him, he realised the intimate closeness of another body and a strange, tickling, but very pleasant feeling of something soft and alive all over his bare chest…

'Get up this instant, fledgling!'

'Fawkes-'

Harry sat up sharply, flipping the phoenix off himself unintentionally. It flapped its wings once, and, even in the claustrophobic space of the four-poster, managed to regain balance as well as keep the position on Harry's half-bent knees.

'Merlin… that's one way to wake up…'

He rubbed his eyes and wearily looked into the pair of black eyes. Fawkes was looking back at him with expectation and another set of emotions that was sort of a visible sign of their bond. He would like to know whether his eyes reflected the same…

'Your friends have arrived in Hogsmeade. I suggest you make yourself-'

'Presentable for the feast. Thanks, Fawkes. I'm there in a bit…'

popopopopo

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table and watched the Great Hall fill wih students. Ron and Hermione entered quite unusually among the first ones, together with Ginny and a young witch that seemed a bit like a Ravenclaw, but _didn't_ wear a uniform… she had black hair pulled into a tight bun and generally looked like a younger version of McGonagall. That were were the two reasons why he noticed her in the sea of students – she was chatting animatedly with his friends, and she was clad in a coat and skirt.

Few Ravenclaw third-years, who were the only to preceed the odd quartet, were giving him inquisitive looks, persumably curious how come he was in the Hall earlier than them when they were the first coming from the carriages and no one noticed him passing by. It didn't take long for them to start a fiery debate.

"Welcome back!" Harry pronounced so dramatically – mocking his own (and Dumbledore's) Fawkes-supervised behaviour – that he put Ernie Macmillan to shame, and gestured his friends to sit next to him, pausing only for a split second it took him to finally recognise the third girl. His face split into a wide smirk – this was the first really enjoyable surprise in quite some time.

"Wotcher, Professor," he said grinning like a loony. Tonks grinned back.

"Good evening, Mr Potter. How do you like my 'professional look'?" She did a pirouette to present her new, forest-green attire. It featured a ridiculously wide skirt and Harry completely missed his friends reactions, because he was staring at her.

"Very _professional_, indeed."

Ginny behind his back snickered. Ron and Hermione didn't listen.

"You think so?" Tonks beamed; the irony in Harry's statement was probably noticable only to someone who knew him really well. He didn't have the nerve to appoint it; rather let her enjoy herself. After all, it was her first day – as well as obviously the first time she was out of her confinement in the Grimmauld Place. Harry pitied her a bit, as he watched her make her way across the room, beaming at students and Professors alike, virtually dancing between the house tables. She looked quite pretty… well, she looked anything _but_ professional.

"It's good to see her happy for a change," Ginny muttered awfully near to him, and Harry momentarily forgot about Tonks, smiling without knowing why. Then he remembered who she was speaking about.

"Yeah. I'm glad that she got the job… for more reasons that I could count."

Ginny contemplatively nodded and Harry knew she thought the same as he did: they were going to have a nice, competent teacher, a friend, a member of the Order, a bright, talented, _funny_ young witch whom they could trust… There was no fear she might be allied with Voldemort. They – McGonagall – had managed to prevent the Ministry from interferring at Hogwarts yet again. Tonks was allowed to come out of her prison and spend time among people.

There were only so many good things in life and he knew to cherish them.

"Harry…" Ginny started hesitantly. He forced himself to face her. Even in the plain student uniform robe she looked… like a _Veela_. Fortunately, she was thinking hard about something else, so she didn't notice the way he was staring at her.

"Ron and Mione are up to something," she whispered. Vain effort – those two were engaged in different activities than listening. He realised in retrospective how wise the decision not to go on the run with them was. They spent half of the time snogging – it would kill him before Voldemort could get anywhere close to him…

"D'you know what it is?" he asked, aware of the amount of damage the couple was capable of causing. She shrugged.

"Whatever it is, don't let them persuade you to participate-"

"Like I would."

"-says Fawkes," she added. That disappointed him; he had thought the phoenix knew him better than that. He was about to inquire about what else did it say, when the Hall fell silent. He looked up to the High Table, instinctively searching for Dumbledore.

McGonagall was standing in the middle, straight-backed, overlooking the room.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts." It seemed as though she had to struggle with the words, unused to the opening speech, even though she must have heard dozens of them. It sounded like she had rehearsed it, but even with Dumbledore to mimick she didn't quite manage to add to the _un_welcoming atmosphere. Harry went as far as to be glad that the first-years weren't in the room yet.

"Now, if you are properly seated, we might proceed with the Sorting Ceremony."

The door burst open and a flock of eleven-year-olds was lead inside by Professor Flitwick. It took Harry a while until he noticed the tiny teacher among them at all – he fit easily, being smaller than the tallest of the children following him. There was painfully too few of them.

Now that Harry had time to look around, he noticed that the Hall was nowhere near as packed as usually. There was a lot of Slytherins missing, especially Malfoy's gang. No sign of Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe or Goyle (those two would be easily spotted anywhere), or Draco himself (predictably). On the other hand, Bulstrode and Davies sat right opposite Harry, watching the first-years with a chagrin that equalled his own.

"Ten?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. Harry noticed the badge on her robe. It was the same one she wore last year.

"Mione… you aren't the Head Girl? What happened?"

She shrugged, probably not even listening to him, gaping at the row of small scared kids.

"She had an argument with McGonagall," whispered Ginny, "I never knew she could be so… disrespectful. The hours she spent with Tonks are rubbing off on her… Point is, Hermione, of course, got the badge, but she refused to take it."

'She what!' Harry blinked a few times.

"Why?"


	17. Jane Puckle

A/N: Hi there! I've got another chapter for you! The future of this story is strongly influenced by reviews (hint, hint). Enjoy!  
Brynn

Chapter 17: Jane Puckle

"_Why?"_

The procession somewhere out of his sight meanwhile halted and the Sorting Hat started singing. Most of the people in the Hall were watching and listening to it, so he and Ginny had relative privacy for their conversation.

_One Millenium passed had since_

_Hogwarts stood tall and proud_

_Only the Hogwarts bell yet rings_

_And I am singing loud_

"She said it would be irresponsible to accept a duty she was unable to button up. That was the first sign of something awry going on there."

_Oi, hear me, little Gryffindors,_

_Be brave in Godric's name_

_Be cunning, little Slytherins,_

_And achieve wealth and fame_

Harry frowned. He glanced at Hermione and back at Ginny, who shrugged in response to his unspoken question.

_Be clever, little Ravenclaws,_

_For Rowena was bright_

_Be loyal, little Hufflepuffs,_

_Represent Helga's light_

"Whatever it is, is going to be dangerous – Ronald vetoed me out of it. I know only the message Fawkes told me to pass you."

_For times as these call upon you_

_Give all you've got within_

_To your school always remain true_

_Whatever House you're in_

"That doesn't make sense. I talked to Fawkes less than an hour ago."

"Uh… yes…" She distractedly pushed a stream of vivid red hair out of her eyes. "It's more recent than that. Harry…"

_Follow the lead of wiser men_

_Protect your weaker friends_

_If you don't let your heart weaken_

_In victory this war ends_

He gulped, almost scared by the intense look she gave him.

"I think… take a bit of Felix tonight. I honestly have no idea what's going to happen, but I want you to be as safe as possible…"

_Nameless evil is foe we face_

It's our strength that he fears 

_Now listen and I shall state the place_

_Where you'll spend seven years_

She clasped his hand under the table. Harry felt nervous about it; had they been friends it would be alright, had she been his girlfriend it would be alright as well, but in the middle point where they were right now it seemed as a promise of something he wasn't sure he could accept.

_Sit down, the stool's waiting for you_

_I'm eager to tell your mind_

_Learn, love and fight – that's what we do_

_Your House I'll help you find_

"Ginny… why aren't _you_ a Prefect?"

"Oh, please…" She rolled her eyes. "No way. I'm taking the Fred and George route… Although they probably never went to McGonagall to announce that they thought their certain classmate was a much better fit for the position…"

"You're crazy," he muttered. They both laughed and turned around to watch the Sorting itself.

This year there was an inovation – there were actually two stools. Flitwick, with the help of a relatively tall dark-haired first-year, climbed atop the four-legged one and unrolled the parchment he was clutching. It seemed to be normal length, until Harry realised that he was subconsciously comparing it to Flitwick's height.

"Allen, Winston," he read. The boy who was called stepped forward and with quivering hands put the Hat on his head – usually it was done by McGonagall, and Flitwick couldn't dream of managing it from his spot on the stool.

"Ravenclaw!"

While the boy was being welcome by his new 'family', the rest of the school watched the nine remaining children.

"Carrow, Jasper."

The boy who had helped Flitwick calmly placed the Hat on his head without even sitting down. Harry almost gagged, seeing McGonagall behind him groan and hide her face in her hands.

"Gryffindor!" the Hat shouted after about ten seconds. The boy was scowling; Harry was glad he had been the first in the Great Hall and could reserve the best seats – closest to the High Table. There was something wrong going on… The boy didn't walk over to the table, but stood on the end of the line, waiting for something.

Hermione stood up and extended her hand towards Jasper, gesturing him to come to her. He calmly, though still frowning, shook his head.

'Fawkes? We've got trouble down here…'

'I'm there in a bit.'

Flitwick didn't notice anything, hidden behind the parchment.

"Carrow, Justine."

That explained a lot. He could quite well picture Fred and George sitting under the Hat together… though they probably had no doubt they would be meeting in the same house. On the contrary, these kids had doubts. It was obvious – most first-years were scared when being sorted, but the girl that stepped out from the huddle and approached the stool was snow-white and shaking so badly that Harry could see it clearly from the distance. She looked over her shoulder at her brother, who was clenching his fists, and stumbled.

'Your intuition has once again proven to be right, fledgling. We do have trouble.'

'What are _we_ going to do?'

The girl reached the stool and wearily sank on it, glad that she didn't have to rely on her knees for a while. She took several deep breaths and a while later – on the second attempt – she managed to put the Hat on her head. It sank low on her shoulders.

'Nothing. _You_ are going to stand up… _now!_'

Harry complied, knocking over his cup in the process. Its rattle attracted attention from all over the room. He didn't quite care, watching the Carrow girl and listening to Fawkes's voice in his mind.

'What now?'

'Walk to her.'

'Why?'

'She's going to faint.'

Harry didn't need to hear more. The girl was small and looked fragile; like she could shatter if they let her fall. And there was no one, apart from the closest two first-years, who he couldn't count on, to catch her. In the corner of his perception he noticed the murmuring behind him raise, but it wasn't of greater importance to him than the overly dramatic billowing of his robe that just _occurred_. Unintentionally. It must have had something to do with buoyancy force…

'Three. Two…'

Harry scowled, at the same time wonderig how could Fawkes know that and thinking that it was arrogant of him to have it counted so exactly. What if Harry himself had stumbled? What if he hadn't obeyed at first?

'One…'

He took the last step and just as the child slumped forwards he scooped her in his arms. The Great Hall let out a huge collective gasp. That made Flitwick finally glance out from behind the parchment.

"Gryffindor!"

Harry craddled the light body to his chest and leant down to the nearest first-year – a girl with blonde pigtails.

"Take the Hat, please."

She was stunned, quite probably too overwhelmed with everything that happened plus _Harry Potter's_ presence on top of it. Fortunately, the one standing next to her was resourceful enough to follow the simple instruction. Harry straightened again, grateful to get a chance to save his back before it was totally destroyed, and walked over to the boy.

"Come with me. Madam Pomfrey will follow soon; you can tell us everything there."

The boy hesitated, then his eyes strayed to Harry's scar and further to the face of his unconscious sister, and he nodded gravely.

"Harry-"

He looked up, from the small figure to one that was taller than himself.

"They'll need pacifying here, Mione; I can take care of this."

"But-" she wanted to argue. Harry didn't want to. Using all the _mannerism_ Fawkes taught him, he gazed at her intently.

"No, Hermione. You are the Prefect, and the most fit person for a Head Girl in this room, even though that badge might not say so. Go help Professor Flitwick – he is going to need it. And the Headmistress, as it seems. I will meet you in the common room."

Without giving her the chance to argue he stepped past her, Jasper Carrow trailing in his wake. The next – and last – stop on his way to the hospital wing was right behind Hermione's back.

'Fawkes?'

'Standing by.'

'Sure. Does Ginny have some Felix on her?'

It took the phoenix a few seconds. For those few seconds Ginny's eyes glazed over. Harry bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything nasty. It wouldn't have been deserved, although he felt like saying it very much.

In the end, instead of answering, Ginny reached into Ron's pocket (the redhead was too enticed with the scene behind Harry to notice), brought out a strap with five golden capsules and put it wordlessly into Harry's robe.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." She grinned and waved him off. Jasper stalled for a moment, gave her a curious scrutiny, and then caught up with Harry, walking next to him along the darkened corridor. The door to the Great Hall slammed behind them, only to be opened and closed loudly again when they were round two corners.

'How is it going there?'

'Poppy's on her way, together with Yvette as Minerva's substitute-'

'Yvette?'

'Professor Sinistra. Minerva, as the Headmistress, couldn't leave the Sorting. They're carrying on.'

Harry nodded. The girl in his arms shifted slightly as he they rounded the last corner. He kicked the door open and gestured Jasper inside as first. He followed right after, setting Justine down on the first bed as gently as he was able to.

"Are you Harry Potter?" Jasper asked quietly once his sister was lying.

"Yes."

The boy hushed and watched Harry adjust the covers around his sister. The girl was somewhat smaller than her brother, but had the same shoulder-length wavy dark hair as he did. Now that she was so close, without the Sorting Hat, and with her hair fanned out of her face, Harry noticed that she was missing left ear.

"I-"

He turned around and faced the boy. Jasper seemed startled and hushed again. Harry sighed inwardly, quickly discarded the idea of kneeling down to null the height-difference, and rather gestured the boy to sit up on the bed.

"I'm Jasper… Jasper Carrow…"

"Hi, Jasper. Now, do you know why did your sister faint? Is she sick?"

The boy shook his head.

"Justine's… Justine didn't eat. She was very nervous."

The boy wasn't entirely truthful, but Harry immediately discarded the idea of using Legilimency on him. He was one of the ten – ten! – children who came this year to start Hogwarts. It was _his_ first day. He just _couldn't_ do something as unfair as that…

"Oh my, Potter, where's the girl?" Pomfrey barged in, much more flustered than usually. She hadn't expected someone to need her professional assistence already during the welcoming feast. She fought with her robe, more fancy than the one she nomally wore while working.

"Get out of the way-" She pushed Harry aside probably a bit harsher than she intended to. He landed sitting on the second bed next to Jasper.

"Will Jasmine be alright?"

Harry had no idea, but he couldn't quite tell that to the boy. He struggled for words, watching Pomfrey dote on the girl.

popopopopo

In the end it turned out to be a 'combination of exhaustion, stress and lack of food', and Harry was ushered out of the hospital wing without further comment. Jasper stayed, allowed to keep company to his sister after he claimed that they had never before been really separated and she would be scared if she woke up and he wasn't there. Harry had a strong suspicion that the fear of being left alone went both ways…

As soon as he was out in the hallway, he peeled the crust off one of the capsules of Felix Felicis (they were larger than those which Hermione gave to him) and swallowed it. Not a second later Fawkes materialised with a flash that seemed very levelled-down, as though he was trying to avoid attention.

'What was that for, Harry?'

'I've got a warning from you. And since I don't know what it was about, I took Hermione's advice and prepared in advance.'

'That _is_ clever. But… please, be careful with the potion. It has-'

'Side-effects, I know. Sl- Professor Slughorn told us.'

'Did he…' Fawkes replied doubtfully, 'Well, in that case you can go back; you'll be just in time for the pudding.'

Not asked for his opinion, Harry paced back to the Great Hall, this time with the phoenix to keep him company. Trying to open the door as quietly as possible didn't help; with the addition of Fawkes's presence he caused as much uproar as on the way out.

'Your place is taken. By Carla 'Enfant Terrible' Jorkins.'

Harry halted few steps into the Hall. Fawkes was, naturally, right. On the spot he had abandoned sat a plump girl with short spiky blonde hair, currently in the process of tucking herself with fruit cake. It looked… distasteful, and not entirely unlike Dudley in his younger years. He pitied his friends, who had to suffer sitting next to the small monster all through the dinner. Ginny was the first of the three to notice his comeback; she looked at him wordlessly pleading for rescue.

Harry shuddered, but those frightened, hopeful brown eyes… he caved in within seconds. Fawkes, being carried on his forearm, twittered mockingly, but remained ignored. This walking perch wasn't in the mood for chastisement…

As he stood behind Ginny, she let out an audible gasp of relief. He forced a grin, leant over her shoulder, and dabbed the meaty upper arm of the blonde.

"Sorry, do you think I could squeeze in here?"

The girl turned around and gaped at him perplexed. Harry patiently waited; finally Hermione mercifully explained to the girl that it would be really appreaciated if she moved a bit and created space for him. As the fat body relocated itself, Ginny wiped her forhead and wearily smiled at him.

It was worth all the discomfort.

"Thanks. You saved my life."

'Again and again,' Harry thought with dark humour he seemed to have adopted from Sirius. At least he had _something_ left after his Godfather.

'Peanuts!' Fawkes exclaimed and hastily hopped off Harry's arm on the table. It caused a disruption among the group of first years-

Harry's eyes widened and he turned to Hermione.

"Those _all _are Gryffindors?"

She nodded gravely, and her eyes swayed to the four kids. It wasn't _too_ much, but when Harry realised that he had to count Jasper and Justine as well…

"Yeah, mate, was a bit of surprise."

"Professor Sprout was on the edge of hystery and Flitwick had to cast a Calming Charm on her," supplied Hermione. Harry looked up to the High Table. The Herbology teacher had red eyes and stared into her goblet with pain-filled melancholy.

"Not a single Hufflepuff this year. One Ravenclaw. Three Slytherins. The rest are-"

"Gryffindors," Ron cut in, deserving a glare from Hermione.

"It's actually comprehensible," Ginny whispered on his side, "These are the kids from the families who were _willing_ to send them away from home. The House traits are in most cases genetic; 'brave' families would have 'brave' children…" It made sense. In a rather twisted way, but Harry couldn't think of a better explanation.

"What about the Ca-"

"What's his name?" asked the girl who had _not_ taken the Sorting Hat when he was leaving, sitting on the opposite side of the table. Harry, momentarily distracted, looked at Fawkes and just avoided rolling his eyes. The phoenix was wrestling the bowl the peanuts originally were in. Needless to say, those peanuts now decorated a large part of the table and the floor.

"Fawkes," he groaned.

'Hey, nothing wrong with amusing the kids, is there? They've had a tough day.'

There was nothing Harry could say to oppose that.

"Is he your pet?" inquired the same girl.

'Sophia Marlow,' Fawkes inserted. So much to not using Legilimency on these kids today.

"No, he's… uh…" for the second time that evening he had found talking to children harder than he had expected. How was he supposed to explain anything without giving everything away? And what was he supposed to say that an ordinary eleven-year-old would understand? "He's my friend."

Sophia smiled.

"He is very pretty," she said mannerly, "Are you Harry Potter?"

Ginny snickered. Hermione and Ron were much too interested in each other (despite having had two months to cuddle as much as they wanted to) to watch. Once again he was left on his own.

"Yes. Is that important?" That shut them up. It was a question too difficult for them to figure out. However, Harry couldn't help but suspect that Jasper would have known _exactly_ what to answer. He looked back to Hermione to continue the conversation, when McGonagall stood up.

The Hall fell silent. As close as they sat, they were one of the few who could see that the Headmistress's smile was actually more hysterical than Sprout seemed to be. Harry contemplated casting one Calming Charm at her, but then he decided that his respect for her didn't allow him to. She could manage on her own. And if not, she would _ask_ for help.

"Now that you are full, listen to a few annual anouncements," McGonagall's voice was shaky, but she held herself proudly.

'That's my girl…'

Harry glanced at Fawkes. The phoenix was intently watching the witch giving the speech.

'Why don't you help her a bit?' he asked. Fawkes peered at him with surprise.

'Harry…'

In a flash he was gone and reappeared on the High Table, in front of McGonagall. Her smile suddenly seemed more rational, and her shoulders straighter.

"The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to _everyone_, including teachers. The student aren't to leave the castle without supervision of an adult. The full list of objects prohibited in the school can be viewed in the caretaker's – Mr Filch's – office.

Further, allow me to introduce two new additions to our staff this year. Professor Moody will teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts-"

Harry's jaw fell.

"When did _he_ get here? How come I didn't notice-"

"You were in the hospital wing with little Carrows, Harry," Hermione said impatiently and returned her attention to the Headmistress.

"And Professor Puckle will teach Transfiguration."

The applause was weak, mostly stirred up by Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Harry, though the entire staff joined them with vigour. Apparently they enjoyed having an Auror – albeit an eccentric one – in the castle. Tonks received a few suspicious glances instead of a welcome, but, despite Mad-Eye's undisputable qualities, Harry had been clapping for _her_.

popopopopo

Harry could hardly wait until McGonagall released them; as soon as he was allowed to, he bolted up and virtually ran from the room. He heard shouts behind himself, and eventually forced himself to wait, even if that meant he had to endure the stares of his schoolmates as they passed by him in the corridor. Fortunately, the shadows leant him at least a semblance of privacy, and, well… it _was_ Ginny's voice calling for him.

"Were you in a hurry?" Hermione asked suspiciously, and Harry shook his head. She stared at him, too, and it was making him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Harry, I think we need to talk," she said stiffly, and for a moment her eyes strayed away from him as she surveyed the four new Gryffindors being lead to their dormitories by the fifth-year Prefect. Then they once again bore into Harry's, and he mentally called on Fawkes.

'She is your friend, fledgling,' the phoenix admonished. 'Surely you don't feel threatened by her?'

He scoffed within his head, remembering as Hermione managed to Petrify Neville back in their first year. With her barely hindered access to the library throughout six years, who knew exactly how dangerous the girl might have been now?

"Puckle?" he asked, and Hermione blinked in confusion. Ron, however, caught on pretty swiftly.

"Yeah. _Jane_ Puckle, if you do believe it…"

"_Jane Puckle_?" Harry repeated, chuckling even as Fawkes scoffed right back at him, with no little amusement.

"Right. We met her dad, by the way, downright decent bloke…"

Harry looked around for the person who caused him to wait in the first place, but Ginny was nowhere in sight. It made him feel slightly nervous, and then reminded him of her warning. Was this – a convesation with Ron and Hermione – the first step to doing what he was supposed _not_ to do?

"He claimed that 'Puckle, Jane Puckle' had a much better ring to it than 'Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks'…" Ron continued, startled as Hermione burst into an uncontrollable giggle. Harry wondered whether she was drunk. But it definitely didn't seem so. "I've got no idea what he meant, but Mione obviously got it…" said the redhead, about as puzzled as Harry himself.

"I let her borrow my mum's maiden name," the girl clarified once she got a grip on herself. Neither of the boys gripped what was so funny about that.

"That's… nice of you," Harry claimed diplomatically, "I just didn't think that Jane was quite the name for her. It seems too… simple."

"That was the point," Ron said, gesturing so wildly that he stuck his hand right through the Fat Friar floating by. He shivered. "She wanted a break from the 'Nymphadora' disaster…"

"That's ridiculous. Nymphadora is a nice name," meant Harry, even though he was grateful to his parents that they had given him a name he could spell.

"Told her so…" Ron exclaimed with another wild gesture, but under his girlfriend's glare crouched sheepishly, and shrugged. "Told her: 'Look, Hermione is called'_Hermione_'. And you don't hear _her_ complaining'."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean, Ronald?" she snapped, her giggly mood flipping right over to indignation, which Harry preferred to escape from.

"Uh… nothing…" the poor _boyfriend_ made effort to amend, "I like your name. Really."

Harry attempted to melt into the wall.

And, to his own surprise, managed.


	18. Hermione

A/N: Thanks everybody for feedback and patience! More of both is needed, I'm afraid. But I certainly hope you'll enjoy.  
Brynn

Chapter 18: Hermione

'What, in the name of Arnold the Pygmy Puff, was that!'

Harry sat up and glared at the wall. At the very same wall with the very same torch-holder just above the line of his head, but in a very different room. Definitely not in corridor, at least… He wished he had taken the Marauders' Map.

'Lumos,' he thought, and the tip of his wand flared. He was in a tiny, rectangular, _absolutely bare_ room. He had no idea what its use was, because there was literally _nothing_ within. It was cold and dark and dry, and there were no entrances nor exits.

'Fawkes?' he inquired, ever so slightly ashamed of himself. He managed to get lost, trapped, and worked up at the same time, having no idea how to get back, or what to do generally, and that despite having downed a capsule of Felix. He was hopeless…

'Just breath, Harry,' the phoenix noted with another spark of amusement. 'It will be fine; just wait for a while. There is someone headed your way…'

"What was that?" he repeated his question, this time leaving out the unnecessary, and perhaps even offensive part.

'That, Harry, was a rather less frequent reaction to adrenaline. It is a powerful drug for humane organism – and I dare say your friend is pretty high right now.'

'Higher than when we faced Death Eaters?' he asked disbelievingly.

'Not really. She just didn't have a victim to curse, so her emotions bounced somewhat… a simple overload, nothing to worry about. Only perhaps young Mister Weasley…'

"Fawkes?" Harry asked worriedly. "Are you high, too?"

popopopopo

There was a loud gasp behind him; Harry reflexively spun and cast a wordless 'Expelliarmus', while the person facing him cast the same in quiet, feminine voice. Two wands shot into midair, and with Seekers' reflexes were caught by the opponent of their respective owner.

"Ginny?" Harry asked disbelievingly.

"Harry?" the girl exclaimed, and the shock threw her off balance. She sagged against the wall.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"That's my line!"

"Alright, I have no idea. I'm here by accident. I don't even know where 'here' is. Your turn," he said, gradually calming himself. Ginny chuckled. Either she was relieved that he was not a blood-thirsty Slytherin, or he was simply making a fool of himself.

'You worry too much, fledgling.'

"This room is an exception in the wards, Harry," Ginny replied with another chuckle. "You can't Apparate anywhere in Hogwarts, but there are three places you can Portkey from. The Entrance Hall-"

"The Head's office-"

"And here."

Harry's breathing was by this time even, and he, too, allowed himself a faint chuckle.

"Still doesn't explain what you are doing in here."

Ginny scowled, opened her mouth to say something harsh, but then her eyes glazed over, and Harry knew that Fawkes was talking to her. It took a better part of a minute, but finally Ginny sighed and hung her head.

"I talked Bill into giving me a job. Nothing big and nothing dangerous, of course, but still, I at least get the feeling that I'm helping... I've got a permanent Two-way Portkey, so I can go straight from Hogwarts there and back. So don't worry, Harry. I'm not going to do anything that could get me killed."

He glared at the girl and she glared back. He had come to terms with her translating for Fawkes, even if it meant that she was prastically being possessed on a regular basis, but this… leaving _Hogwarts_ to get _somewhere_… and he didn't even know _where_… he didn't like it. Not in the least. And no matter how much she scowled at him, he wasn't going to step down. It made him rather sad that she would be angry with him for worrying about her, but there was little to nothing he could do to influence _that_.

"Don't pester me about it, Harry. I'm sworn to secrecy."

He let out a low growl of frustration, but he knew well what 'sworn to secrecy' meant. He wasn't going to question her, but…

'Where is she going?'

'I cannot tell you, Harry. That place has a Secret Keeper, and it is not me.'

'Jolly wonderful…' he thought sarcastically, and Fawkes dropped him in a bathtub filled with Ever-lasting Ice-Pyramids as a response. It hurt a lot – Ice-Pyramids had pointed edges. A lot of them.

"Harry?" Ginny quipped, and he was forced to split his attention.

"It's alright, Ginny," he lied. "Go on, and take good care of yourself."

She beamed at him. It was… worth it. Definitely.

The girl pushed herself off the wall and stood in the centre of the room. She reached into her pocket and retrieved an object that fit into her fist so that Harry couldn't see what it was, except that he was already quite sure that it was a Portkey.

"Uh, Ginny…"

She looked at him expectantly.

"My wand…" Harry passed her her own wand, and she took it, examining it closely. He had no idea why she would do that, but let her do so. Almost hesitantly, she returned his wand to him, and gave him a crooked smirk.

"See you tomorrow."

"See-"

Ginny's lips moved as she uttered the password – using Harry's farewell to cover the sound – and disappeared.

He let out another angry growl, and Fawkes eventually released him from the punishment. His muscles ached, even though the ice had not been real.

"Nice of her to tell me how to get out of here…" he muttered. Then something flashed through his mind. 'Fawkes? What would happen if someone who wasn't informed about a location under Fidelius took a Portkey there?'

It wasn't exacly fair to ask that, and most certainly wouldn't be fair if he ever did anything based on the information, but it might be good to save for later use.

'I am not certain of that, fledgling. Empirically, it depends on the wizard in question – mostly, except for extreme cases, the wizard's mind would be broken. Something akin to Dementor's Kiss, I suppose, but inflicted upon the _mind_, not soul. But there is no theory I know of-'

"And those exceptions?" Harry asked curiously.

'They might not even be true, Harry. Those are stories of wizards with extreme willpower, who were close relatives to either the inhabitants of the disguised place, or the Secret Keeper. Honestly, I do not think that anyone within Hogwarts might survive the journey to where Ginevra is gone.'

"You know where it is-"

'I do. And, as I already said, there is no way for me to tell you.'

Harry sighed, finally accepting that there was _really_ 'no way for the phoenix to tell him'.

"Fawkes…" he started, but stopped himself when something nagged in his mind.

'I'm listening.'

"I was about to ask you to come and get me out of here…" Again, there was the nag.

'But?' Fawkes inquired with slight amusement. Apparently, he was enjoying Harry's dealing with Felix.

"But I have a better idea."

He swiftly crossed the room and pushed on the wall Ginny had apparently come through, with an identical torch-holder. Now that he was expecting it, and didn't advance backwards, he followed the entire process. It was ridiculously simple – the wall was in fact an independent panel, designed to spin around a shaft in its middle. When Harry pressed, it swung and he found himself in another corridor, with the same patent torch-holder behind himself.

'Crafty,' he thought, and with a smirk strolled down the corridor.

popopopopo

"Who's there?" an uncertain female voice asked of a dark hallway, and Harry was impressed. He thought he had been soundless, and sticking to shadows well enough to avoid even passing-by Slytherins.

"It's me, _Professor_," he replied quietly.

"Ah, Harry! I wanted a moment with you…"

She was about to continue, but Harry wordlessly Silenced her. He wasn't the only one who knew how to creep up on people, and he wasn't going to risk Tonks's cover for a pleasant welcoming chat.

Tonks blinked in confusion.

"…in your _office_, perhaps?" he suggested, and this time the message came through. The woman nodded, and lead him through a tapestry-covered portal that was notoriously well-known in the _Gryffindor_ common room, and then up a staircase that hardly anyone found out about during their seven years at Hogwarts. Harry used it occasionally, thanks to the Marauders' Map.

Finally, when the door was closed behind them and temporarily warded, he cast a Muffliato and grinned.

"Funny, before this summer, I always had you pegged down as a Hufflepuff," Harry announced, and hoped that she wouldn't take it bad. He certainly didn't mean it as an insult. Tonks – _Jane Puckle_ – grinned back and shook her head.

"I'm about as Hufflepuff as Neville Longbottom."

"To- _Professor_, Neville is 99 percent Hufflepuff," he remarked, correcting himself for the sole sake of getting used to the new title. The McGonagallishness of Tonks's appearance helped a lot. He was almost confident that he wouldn't slip during a class.

'Wow. I'm going to be taught Transfiguration by _Tonks_!' Fawkes pretended to roll his eyes at Harry's excitement. But this was even slightly better than being taught Care of Magical Creatures by Hagrid. And he had an idea how to make it yet better.

"Yup. I noticed," Tonks replied carelessly, and swung a fold of her dress, apparently still fascinated by the attire. "Why were you wandering through the corridors? I was under the impression that you're supposed to be in your dormitory-"

"Well, that 'you're supposed to' thing scarcely works on me, Professor," Harry replied mock shyly, and Tonks started giggling. This time it clashed with her apppearance rather astoundingly.

"I was wondering if you would give me private tuition."

Tonks hitched up her skirt and sat on her desk, on the spot that would be occupied by a stack of parchments to grade a mere week later. The furniture screeched, and she gave it a dark look, as though it was insulting her.

"Harry, I know you're not quite your dad when it comes to Transfiguration, but asking for remedials before your first lesson's a bit overblown-"

"Not Transfiguration, Professor. I was thinking along the lines of continuing the summer course of advanced DADA, and perhaps a bit of duelling…"

Tonks beamed.

"Of course! That was cool! We had a lot of fun, didn't we? I'll see tomorrow what I can schedule, I'll slip you a note, how 'bout that?"

Harry smirked.

"Perfect."

Tonks smirked back, but then schooled her features into a strict scowl, with her mouth forming a thin line.

"Now, Potter, it's about the highest time to get you back to the dorms. Get moving."

She held the door open for him. Harry flashed her a brilliant smile, and paused in the hallway.

"So, Professor, I hope you'll enjoy your time here…"

"I don't doubt that I will." She laughed, leant forwards and kissed his cheek. "I'm looking forward to our next meeting."

"So am I, Professor."

"Good night, Harry." She returned back to the office, aiming for the entrance to her personal quarters, and the door closed behind her. A quiet buzz indicated the re-installation of wards, and Harry set out another three levels upstairs, toward the gargoyle.

popopopopo

Just as when he used Felix Felicis before, Harry had absolutely no idea why he was doing what he was doing. He knew that most reasons would be uncovered over the course of the next few days, but even so he would very much like to know exactly why he was compelled to visit the Headmistress twenty minutes after curfew, not to speak about the fact that he hadn't been informed about the new password.. It was akin to tickling a sleeping dragon… or an _awake_ dragon, as it seemed.

Harry had seen the Professor seething on occasions, and so he was quite surprised about her calm manner as she faced two students out of beds. It spoke volumes about her dragging exhaustion.

"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, kindly explain yourself," she spoke quietly, though with a hint of exasperation in her voice. Harry groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Now it made more sense… especially when he took a few steps forward and saw over McGonagall's shoulder. There were his two friends, standing in the centre of a junction. Ron looked chastised, hunched and staring at his shoes. Hermione, on the other hand, was standing straight, defiantly facing down the Headmistress. She carried Harry's Weight-Lifting Expandable Back-pack over her shoulder, and Harry had a strong suspicion that somebody – Ron, most likely – had packed all his belongings.

They just couldn't get the suicidal idea about 'the three of them waging war against Voldemort on their own' out of their heads.

"We're doing this for Harry," Hermione replied calmly and Harry barely suppressed another groan. Just what he needed – them getting him into trouble with the Headmistress. And he couldn't quite speak up for himself now, because he would merely confirm her suspicion.

"So, if I understand this right… Mr Potter told you to pack your belongings and wait for him in the middle of the night in an abandoned corridor, so you could set out on a suicidal crusade against the Dark Lord and his armies of Death Eaters and Dark creatures," McGonagall inquired, shocking all three students with the blatant disbelief, and amusing Harry with the eoquence, despite its obvious origin in her exhaustion. Harry's respect for the Professor went up another notch – along with gratefulness for the benefit of the doubt.

"Uh… not exactly…" Hermione spoke hesitantly. "He sort of…"

"Refused to have anything to do with it," proclaimed a clear voice and Harry subconsciously straightened, not only because it had come from behind him, but also because of its owner.

"Miss Weasley!"

Ginny emerged from the darkness, looking a lot like when Harry met her half an hour ago, but wearing the weird embroidered robe he remembered from Grimmauld Place. He couldn't recall whether she had had it on when they met in the dark room.

He was quite impressed with the way Ginny's barely contained fury made the air around her crackle and spark. There was lightning in her eyes, but she hardly glanced at him (she was still the only one who noticed him in the gargoyle's shadow) as she passed by. She could have compromised him, but chose not to do so…

"I'm sorry for breaking the curfew, Headmistress," she spoke icily, though it was obvious that her anger was directed at the couple, "but I am sure you are aware of the exception issued for me."

She finally looked away from Harry's friends and into the Headmistress's eyes. He had to admire the daring, though after hearing her tell off Dumbledore, this wasn't as… improbable.

"Are you catering for these two?" McGonagall asked disbelievingly. Ginny looked back at Hermione and Ron, who stuck together in front of the entrance to the Headmistress's office. Bright-eyed, they looked at her with hope.

"By no means, Professor. I am merely making sure that Harry does not take the blame for something he didn't do."

"And yet, Mr Potter is out of bed even right now…" McGonagall remarked, and Harry had to wonder how did she know that. He could think of several possibilities, ranging from being informed by portraits after the Fat Lady never saw him enter the common room, to being told by Ron and Hermione before he came withing the earshot.

"Professor… Harry does have an awful lot to do, _you_ know that," Ginny said calmly.

'You're cueing her.' Harry couldn't believe his ears.

'Jealous?'

'_Of course_ not. Merely surprised,' he said more or less truthfully. Fawkes distanced himself again, and Ginny continued her speech.

"You are also aware that steps had to be made to ensure his safety for this year; in the process of convincing Harry to stay in Hogwarts there had to be certain allowances made for him. After all, we took his freedom, Headmistress. We had to give something in return."

Harry's jaw dropped.

'Does that mean I don't have to respect curfew?'

'It means you can talk your way out of great many trespasses, fledgling. And you have my express permission to not follow rules when it's not convenient.'

A large grin split Harry's face. But McGonagall didn't like the idea nearly as much as he did.

"He is a student-"

"He is the Chosen One," Ginny countered. "Professor, you cannot tame a phoenix. You must satisfy it for it to decide and stay."

'Is this a confession?' Harry wondered. It certainly was a fitting explanation for the way Fawkes acted. There was only the small difference between 'satisfying' him, and 'being _forced_ to satisfy' him.

'Sort of. In the first place it is a heart-wrenching speech to win Minerva over.'

'Does it work?'

'Watch.'

"Very well," McGonagall said with a kind of aloofness Harry didn't recognise, and straightened to gain another inch on fuming Hermione. "Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, since there are no points that I could take off yet, you two have detention with Mr Filch every evening this week. I trust that this will not repeat. Now go back to your dormitories. Straight."

Hermione's jaw dropped exactly as five and half a year ago in the very same situation; only this time it was Ron standing next to her, not Harry. And there would be no Neville and no Malfoy to join them. He felt wretched, but he kind of missed Malfoy. The school was bound to be duller without the bleached rodent picking on him…

'I wonder what's happened to him… do tell?'

'Later. '

"But Professor!" Hermione yelled. McGonagall merely looked at the girl, unaffected.

"Is this the reason why you didn't accept the position of the Head Girl, Miss Granger?"

Hermione stood still for a long while. Although McGonagall didn't seem impatient at all, Ron finally moved and opened his mouth to say something. He was stopped by Hermione's hand on his chest.

"Professor, there is a lot of unpleasant things going on. And we all know that it is going to be only worse… we must do something. We… the wizards as a race, cannot afford a full-out war. I'm good enough in Arithmancy to count that. We must stop this conflict-"

"When you say 'we', Miss Granger," the Headmistress interposed, "do you mean the Order, or the two of you and Mr Potter?"

There was no answer this time.

"Ah. And what is Mr Potter's opinion?" the witch asked, turning to Ginny, who, for some mysterious reason, seemed to be taken for Harry's spokesperson.

"Harry knows very well that the plan is suicidal. He persuaded Ron and Hermione to return to Hogwarts for this year, and accepted his orders as an Order trainee," the girl answered calmly. Harry watched his friends' reactions. Ron looked resigned, and perhaps a little bit smug, while Hermione was pale and shaking with rage.

"And how do _you_ know?" she snapped at Ginny, and Harry's eyes widened a fraction. Was this, too, a side-effect of the adrenaline? Ginny and Hermione generally liked each other well; he couldn't comprehend why this irked the elder girl enough to endanger _their_ friendship.

"Because I asked him," the readhead said, and shrugged ever so slightly. "Professor, if you don't need me, I'd like to return to the Tower now…"

"By all means, Miss Weasley. And do lead these two Prefects, please. I believe we have said everything there was to say." The Headmistress faced the gargoyle, and Harry shrunk deeper in the shadows, using the opportunity he had when she looked over her shoulder. "And try to keep tabs on Mr Potter."

The trinity stood in the centre of the junction, motionless, and for a while nothing happened. Harry kept staring his friends as he listened to the rough screeching of the stones as the staircase behind the statue moved.

"'m sorry, Ginny…" Hermione broke the silence as first. Her cheeks were pink, and her posture indicated that she was very uncomfortable in the situation.

"'s alright," said the redhead with a tired smile and gestured to the corridor she and Harry had come through. "We'd better get going…"

"Is it true?" Hermione quipped quietly, mere three feet from Harry's hideout. He had no idea why he hadn't come out yet, but _Felix_ told him to stay where he was, so he stayed.

"What?" Ginny asked. Ron was still uncharacteristically silent.

"Harry really thinks that the plan is suicidal? He wants us to stay at Hogwarts? He's an Order trainee?"

Ginny solemnly nodded and then the trio rounded a corner and Harry remained solitary.

'Is it true? Am I an Order trainee?' he inquired of Fawkes.

'Not quite. But officially you are. At this time. Don't worry Harry – you will get the last laugh.'


End file.
